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 Nov 2018 Jodie-Elaine
Pea





I've always been sad about the bathroom. The pink and black, hair and blood, tears and out of tune singing, thick and transparent. Whenever I step on the tiles I become afraid of the shower, that silver thing with wet holes, with cold stream and mindless embrace. But here I don't have the fear, only disgust, because the ground is all black and peeling and it sticks to my feet, and the coldness isn't clean, the coldness is only there because I've left it for just too long.





I keep coming back although I hate it, although each drop of water feels like a punishment and the soap bubbles are mocking my greasy everything. I keep coming back although it tortures me, because at the street I can hear the gazes pointed toward me, how the eyes shift when I try to catch, what is not said in front of me I know them all it rings so loud in my ears, I can hear them all. I keep coming back because even in the world of cruelty I still got to have a place to come home, to have something familiar, so I will feel less lonely and as if I had a purpose. It's a familiar pain, the kind of a hit that feels like a kiss. It's always like this, I keep coming back to the bathroom I do not own, I keep coming back and calling it my home. I've always been sad about it, the bathroom, home, I've always been
With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.
Mind
    swirled
    into a
chaotic
turmoil
twirl

electric
& eclectic
dizzying
Indeed

incessantly
seeking
longing
to reach
the
    abundant
overflowing
stream
of
consciousness

Plight of
the artist
twisted
fate
eternal
chaotic
state
I don't mean to scare you
But could we make a deal?
I would like to wear your skin
To know how beauty feels.
Maybe pop a couple eyes
And test your lovely brain.
Admiring the intellect
This mind of yours contains.
Possibly your lips and nose,
Your fingers, knees and feet.
You'll be my perfect exosuit
Of pretty skin and meat.
Rustling by the window
“Is that a cat?” I ask
“No”, it says
“Why?” I ask
“It doesn’t mew”, it says.

Rustling by the window
“Is that a dry leaf?” I ask
“No” It says
“Why?” I ask
“It isn’t autumn” it says
          
Rustling by the window
“Is that a ghost?” I ask
“Yes” it says
“Why?” I ask
“It says yes.”
 Nov 2018 Jodie-Elaine
JV Beaupre
"So why are you painting a woman in a bottle?"
The challenge. Handling all those quirky reflections and layers of transparency.

"She has phantom arms and legs, what about that?"
Yes, pretty cool. A Vitruvian woman in a bottle. *

"I'm looking for Meaning: Don't paintings look under the surface?"
You mean, what does it mean, really mean? It's just a way to test my skill.

"But what are you saying with that?"
It's not feminist nor anti, it's just an exercise. Besides, there's a rope.

"But aren't you, as an artist, exposing reality, presenting emotions and feelings, seeing the soul?"
I'm not on a soapbox-- I'm testing my skill-- I paint and don't think about it too much. After all, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar' or is it 'just a smoke'?

"I don't like your message."
OK, I'll paint you in a bottle...
As a shrunken head.
On the other hand, I once painted an agricultural scene based on a photo from the 1930s that I thought carried a social message. Most people wanted to know what kind of tractor it was.
 Nov 2018 Jodie-Elaine
Viktoria
Was it fun,
Watching me dig my own grave,
How about when I tripped and fell in?
No. The most delightful part must have been dropping the dirt on top of me.
Watching me suffocate,
Alone and helpless.
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