New paintings and regular art updates.
It looks like a coastline with crumpled cliffs and a sandy, rocky beach below. But is that a tall building above the cliff? The scale is wrong. And why is the left side of the sky paler than the right hand side? Because this is actually a close up of an old window, the paint has come off the frame and the wood is dry and brittle. Photo taken a few years ago at Spode Works, Elanora street, Stoke upon Trent.
Aging, wrinkled
Face more ridged
Than a fingerprint.
Saggy, baggy
Loss of smooth
Crumpled, crinkled
Twisting, turning
Reshaping
You exchange
All your atoms
Every seven years?
Why are all mine
Second hand!
It’s withered, like a dead skull, on York stone pavement. Crumbling, dried, sad. Losing colour, frayed round the edges. On a thin stem, fallen from a great height, spiralled down from the highest treetop. Remember when you were a bud? Barely broken out of your twig…? Then you swelled as rain fell onto the ground. Expanding green, growth, sucking in sunlight. Changing it to sugars. Then the cold wind bit, frost grew on your surface, ice crept into your veins. Ended, you fell. You will be dust soon, forgotten.
Mallaband-Brown