ramblings & studio
a text trapped in between, written like a needle and thread.
unmade beds with sheets, lingerings of a night slept. or not. a night where a nightmare creeps, jostling the beats of the heart, an [in]creased tempo, as if it were to almost escape from its cavity. this relentless heart, wishing and wishing and wishing. how can this sweet, caring light find itself lodged? weaving through the threads of time over/under time. to suddenly realize the weight of a thousand feathers, marking what was suppose to be the comfort of care.
a spindle of a shadow creeps from the window, a leap of a certain distance. they meet the ones already pressed and formed. a deep, warm orange, rendered colorless in this particular depiction. the memory of its warmth lingers hot in what would be the rattling of photons. a multicolor dance, twinkles of memory from the winter, passing through and in between.
a dancerly touch suspended in the time of exposure, hands moving in front a suspended shelter, a sheet made to feel safe, a curtain of a stage, its soft folds passing through the space between the fingers
in empty rooms of a lonely summer, spent in chaos. drying wet sheets from empty shelves to pass the time. mistakes hanging from other mistakes. thinking that in my body, a reach back, a turn back, a redemption. who knew the sun could feel so cold?
and even in touch, the way light seeps through the prisms of plastic veils meant to obscure. to refract light causing color to appear here.
and here. tugging slightly at the heart again. a little bit of holiness, so it goes.
not afraid of turning into salt, this turning back exercise, revealed some patterns and some beautiful images. the shadows of bedsheets. of rooms and homes only now reserved in memories.
morning coffee, a delicious ritual enjoyed best in the comfort of feathers, cotton, silk, and other of these materials reserved for intimate spaces. images within images, outlines imprinted in the heart, in the soul. the way i found an additional name to be remembered by, may it be for a blessing one day.
and even the jaggedness of memory, of looking even further back. a bed with no support, a shocking encounter of a past self, who embraced this mode of life. a necessary staging for creative focus, a doubling of sorts.
another encounter with materials, these more harsh than others. ones that leave marks, that create tension, that hold things together. the splintering of a body to create different configurations, imitations of myth made visual, of embodied beauty.
and then the mismatch. of these bodies coming together. an irrational proximity or a falling of slow burning flames. a hum-like sound. the space in between, creased in shadow and light.