She is silent, she will never speak, never forgive, never reach a hand, never leave the frozen present tense. All waits, suspended. Suspend the autumn trees, the autumn sky, anonymous people. A blackbird, poor fool, sings out of season from the willows by the lake. A flight of pigeons over the houses; fragments of freedom, hazard, an anagram made flesh. And somewhere the stinging smell of burning leaves.
Cras amet qui numquam amavit quique amavit cras amet
Tomorrow let him love, who has never loved; he who has loved, let him love tomorrow. The Vigil of Venus. 3rd Century AD
My current body of work is a response to this passage, a passage that I interpret as the brief, reflective silence when every detail is magnified. Its the human condition of reflection, regret, and emotional need, come to life in this prose. With this excerpt in mind, my work references a superstitious belief system that helps to quiet the what ifs and unpredictability of the every day. From picking up a penny for good luck to holding my breath past a graveyard, I find comfort in these actions, unwilling to take chances on habits ingrained from childhood, despite how irrational they may be. Through repetitive imagery rendered in fine detail, I question the tipping point between harmless acts of routine and the human obsession with order, manifested in these rituals.