Mid-life Crisis 2

Mid-life crisis – 2

A squiggle of wrought iron winds sinuously around an upright black rod.

The smith used fire to coax the metal into an organic, flowing form that looks like a child’s drawing – and fire is there again, everytime the candles are lit.

Her husband gave her this candlestick many years ago and was chided for spending the money.

Now, as she looks at the writhing, upward thrust of petrified movement, she understands that this is the one object she would save from a fire

being, as it is, the object that defines her life so far.

Exhibition


Once, I smelled a room.
Half filled with crude oil that mirrored in it’s stillness.
The ornate ceiling became the glossy ground
where a metal walkway invited me to access the centre.


Pungent sour,_ the slick odure of something rotten, yet familiar, tipped me towards the viscous verge that stained the cornices, the paneling – and the accepted norms.


Crashing through the smooth illusion, flailing in the goop of ancient trees and insects,
I fell in and floundered – sucked by millions of years of sediment that had been pumped into a government building to make a point.
The sliding tide rising –
all orifices, now crude – turned black and, bogged from the inside out.

I am peat.


Once, I smelled a room and became petrified.
After the show, the artist found me, lumpen and I was burned ceremoniously as a warning to over reliance on the oil industry.


I don’t know how they cleaned the room.

Crude.

Ink and acrylic on paper.

work in progress………..

Free Fall

Just testing!

I was getting along very well with WordPress – until they changed it….!

I guess we are all in free fall now?

Artiste Peintre

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It was about transparent skin.

Translucent like a ghost organism from the deep depths.

This clear wrap enclosing the vital organs: the heart, opaque rust red, the lungs – huge and grey-cast. The spleen and the stomach, churning away, visible.

It was about the intestines, moving independently.

At some point, one broke through the membrane, and as it slid out, groping, it, and the others that followed, morphed into tendrills

And then it became clear. She had become an artist.

Pink and pulsing – grotesque in her lack of shame.

Innards hanging out and passive in the ebb and flow of the judgement tide.

Lockdown work. 2020

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New thinking and new perspectives whilst far from my studio and materials.

After a tentative start, I am getting a renewed focus because I have different materials to play with – mostly old sheets and a bunch of forgotten x rays.

I like what’s emerging.

Some of the work is on my site: http://www.powyscreates.crevado.com if you would like to follow my journey😘

 

Confinement. Or – The Lockdown ballad!

IMG_20200428_173706_381(sing to the tune of “Nothing Compares to U” by the late, great and mighty Prince!)

 

It’s been 7 hours and 38 days

Since I had to stay indoors.

Arrived in UK in time for lockdown –

And I have to stay indoors.

For all that time, I can do whatever I want – I can wear whatever I choose.

I can eat my dinner in front of a Netflix film –

But nothing, I said nothing can take away these blues.

Cos I want to go out, want to go out – and see people……

We have a garden and the sun is out.

And a daily circuit walk.

Nothing can stop Nature from taking over – and listen baby, even loo roll is availlable!

I can smile into every screen I see –

But it only reminds me of flu.

I went to the doctor and guess what he told me – guess what he told me?

He said:

Girl you’d better wash your hands no matter what you do.

And he’s no fool.

All the paintings that I made once – all mouldering away in the studio….

I know that in the grand scheme of things it’s not much – but it matters to me…..

Cos I gotta get out, want to get out – and hug people……..