From Me to You
Arts
Art 194: forms and ideas
Multiples of my face rest before each member in the audience. Imperfect copies, distorted memories, disfigured faces. Like roadkill, or the glimpse of a person you once saw on the way the work but was too busy to look up and stare and trinkle their eyes across your face, or maybe its a friend you had in the 3rd grade who you never saw again but you are still accompanied by the memory of memories of experiences you lived with her, or, maybe, a beloved stuffed animal dragged, hugged, and accompanied for years until its ware. The softness of another presence, of being alive, of the incomplete and totally different person I was to each person. They all knew me, a me that reflected from themselves, while I knew my truth, my body, as they are. When the rain began to scatter and silence filled the air, the soft features of my multiples slowly eroded. From the soft skin-toned hues came pungent reds and oranges, like acid on skin, or the disheartening disappearance of seeing the memories of your loved one disappear before you. In the center, I lay tracing the nerves along my body, following the rain drops crawl across my body, and sinking deeper into myself.
