Festivities...Hand-made card series

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Lifeless demonstration

Lifeless demonstration

The red through my veins maintains your passions

The red reveals more than your bounce or word.

High off color and intuition, haul up!

I need you for soul conservation.

Come be live in this head, be habit of the nitrogen air I breathe, impress your full facet onto me.

Come sit.

Revel and reveal to me that I am she the one, the puller of stars and the one that grounds the magic upon your feet.

Remaining nameless, my offer is validated

The freedom to have another, layen for the lions.

Alive, a life is that which is now par shared sharing smoke and mirrors, a sting, the tyranny of substitute mutant inside.

The darkness posses the affections of who enables the grace and articulation

Bearing a tint to look directive at the daylight; here is to the delayed. broken communication and lost transitions that is all I am.

gracefully addicted knowing you are not.

Once these fears project you are unsafe, drunk and wanted.

Mourning light.

A closed window cannot hear reason or whispers.

Escapen dream state

Escapen dream state

Having thawed last month’s song, I am reforming.

The instances of my soul on my knees.

The still crouched orientation is bearing extra external views for the limited- and then there’s mine, unlimited, undone.

A compromise of gravity in dispute of force.

The decision; the pursuit of which direction lays the uncomfortable, the partnership of dormant will. Mindful stealth?

I’m a lodger of temporary locality, determined by current temperament and a lumpy equilibrium, trying to make raid assault on lost composure trying to conjure some nonsense to tempt. 

I have a lonely body. No missionary or unsafe tussling.

I will fight horizontal and empathize with the farthest current waters sources.

While we pry, we pray, we dive.

Looking for others who drown whole, fragile, erect immobile.

The truth; we are boneless, gay, we are superfluous and innocent, we lie to ourselves, taint ourselves wholesome - the lies of fables.

Yet

Take me by my image, the image that evokes. Take me of a place we can find commonplace, that resonates to both our reflections, I do not know who you are, but now I am finding myself within you.

I am with you, yet I belong to the world.

I greet the tempestuous the unaligned and call home to pastures that currently cease to awake the bashful statures of stars above.

The world rejoices and asks, who can I ask if I am recognizable or to question the state of my manifestation?

Unless I am a temporary moment of memory, I necessitate domestication to retain rogue reverie and find tessellated desolation, always alone always together.

It all seems knotted.

Gemini, asteroid

Gemini, asteroid

“you asked me how and what I dance to…

The answer is: I dance on you, with you and for you.”

I understand the rationality of another is to understand no-other.

I can anticipate the takeover, yet in this meantime I indulge in this present composure.

One being half coddled, the other heartless, a heart at loss.

To beat slowly and persevere is to believe in the pace of your other.

Wavering passiveness

Incomplete escapes

Transference. To deceive your sister and elude her story- is to find our lonely body slipping through every sensation unstirred, impact-full.

The erosion of aid

Dare not speak

Dare not tell

The light of the day grazes upon my dream, the heat triumphant, prevailing the dark waters.

The femme upon my back lays her breath upon my ear, stating her indulgence

“I am not giving up”

“I am in love with your insensate disruption” - your Gemini.

Naturally active, unbeknown, mind, your mind, numb.

Mind your mind sister.

What one once thought as a feeling, has an ego. It tempts its comfortable state and promises to burst.

It can orbit, slow- transfixed on creating unsafe acts. Performing exploits.

I again smell her eyes on my front, working her pace from my back, around, affecting, enveloping, operating, dissolving my responsiveness.

Despite attempts to transgress, I have gone under.

Charmed.

Immediately seduced.

The dance has begun.

She on me.

Betting my doubts aloud, my other half regulates.

She reveals regular confessions of an emotive addict, I am here as a result of surplus conflict-a responsive dweller, disrupting ones life line, forever undisputed her passionate savior.

She exposes, herself as; part of but not in love with the fringes of the pacifist.

I tease her neck until she succumbs from the front.

I am her, her signaler of music, her fighter of all that marvels and stuns.

I accredit the red skies, these reassuring status’ that all faith resides in what is above.

My lips are here to prove my endurance, my respondence.

It is me that draws upon the deepest pleasures and exhales long lasting pleasure into her, unto the world, without me the flashing lights do not startle or provoke sex.

Without my part the flora does not germinate, echoes would not reverberate you would be damned half dumb.

 I promise and provide the midnight sun; I am the bastard of your hope.

 Before law and logic your dainty permits my acquaintance, your heart akin with my beat.

Left and right, no wrong.

Left love, adjoining tastes, incapable instincts, souls uncertainly laced with past and present.

 As the birds take flight north, I look south, the vibrations of silence rake the evidence of my being state.

I have danced; I now rehearse again for another debut.

Unsure and fighting my way back into the impossible diversion of blind sight.

Wander to rest.

Matinee in the day.

You’re my stranger, the other half of my stranger.

I don’t know you, or when you arise.

Your silence is cruel, your presence is affliction.

Because of you I understand how to be exquisite and scared. Your remnant allows me to recuperate in my sleepless solitude as you blazon in my place, you cope and transpire as I cower.

Not stable but wondrous.

My anger, my truth and my mechanism of fight.

Two sufficient halves. Surrendering-in and at arms.

hand embroidery/perspex sculpture: '12

'Affectations take2'

A hot headed believer, remodelling artefacts, another perspective, another portal, another art relic.

Desire to transform, exhausting idea and material: allowing context and content to consume and satisfy.

GODDOG.COM

http://goddog.com/

The network for the affected creative.
Share.
M.

Screen-print/Artefact: Heartache '12

'depletion'

'i was born with a little heartache'

Perspex verse: Affectations '12

Affected by the possible .

Circulating within the lagoon of hazardous affairs, the voodoo hereafter.

Attempting intimacy, yet finding exquisite anguish in the life of the mind.

Sculpting my heart with games, I can only try to love.

Pieces of personified affection, attachment -at a price.

I cannot find resemblance. Inducement.

I cannot recognize my own pain. Neuter.

I thought I was a part of you- I now weep with silhouettes of faded happiness.

A borrowed stable mentality- Past times of the fairy-tale now numb.

 

The Letter

Easter, time to try the left wing.
I shall write a letter.
to whom, is the question-i fancy a new pen pal.
anyone?
I would love your address and I, myself promise a lurid, poetic manually written letter.
archaic, lost form, lets bring it back!
(correspondence would be most supremely treasured)

Post Netherlands diary. More than a venture.

Diary entry, 15^th February 2011

Today I listened but became almost deaf.

I understood the words, the context and the speaker, yet I couldn’t identify the accumulation of knowledge in which I aspired to interpret.

Today I became a little confused, however, I shall not confess unto you the matters of my psychology.

I repeat, there is nothing wrong with me.

Diary entry, 16^th February

Definitely more than semi aware of my fate today.

My hormones are producing anti socialism, I can’t and won’t  aim to exchange blows with my body.

My body knows best.

Though, the now is improving, as today is unlike any other day.

For, today I am mystic Michelle.

Today I can see into tomorrow, tomorrow has prospects, not only prospects, but post-it-notes and a schedule.

Diary entry, 17^th February

I thrust into today with no sleep just a series of restricted naps.

On schedule.

Bus to Victoria 45minutes

Train to Gatwick 30 minutes

Airplane to Amsterdam 50 minutes

Insufficient energy to complete the day, yet I collapse effortlessly into the laid back temperament of the Netherlands.

Diary entry, 18^th February

Fuelled with a macro dose of caffeine, my vocational bearings and the local tourist map, I begin my expedite to unearth my version of the Netherlands.

(I use the broader term Netherlands, as I hope to appear authentically cultured and archival, opposed to the rapturous stag night imagery conjured by pin pointing the exact, Amsterdam.)

With my head high, I survey the skylines whilst reveling in the architecture, people watch in the local croissant ce les’magnifique and with this midday delight I celebrate my 5day fiesta.

Diary entry, 19^th February

The forecast for today is dull, yet my outlook is seemingly better.

This potent coffee is half drunk, but nonetheless seems half full.

That is a smile.

The body knows best.

Dad called, he may come to visit; yet the ratio of time spent with him per year is less than 14 in 265 days and a quarter.

Austria to Amsterdam, 10 hours X2, that forecast is deemed less than promising.

Time is a great leveler, and now I am emotionally departing from this less than idealistic family situation.

Diary entry, 20^th February

Rembrandt had a gift, he also had assistants like all of the other divas in which we know.

Prep my canvas, mix my paint…

I now know he had a slight cocktail obsession, which led to debt, another diva similarity, though, in those days I’m unsure of the rehab state.

 I question if all of humanity lives merely dormant until introduced to the intoxicating thrills of alcohol and other substances?

Do we rest with pessimistic anticipation of this rich awakening?

I leave tomorrow; I now believe I need a drink.

.

Diary entry, 21^st February

A kaleidoscope of lives, trams, travelers, taxis and tourists all jostling for street space.

By night I am serenaded by bustling horny busy bodies, In which one, without delay directs them towards Amsterdam’s finest, the district in which humanity is stripped, and sober optimism telescopes into nothingness.

 The same venue in which I have not come to view, but in where vanity breeds and where lust and gluttony are listed as the bare daily essentials.

 Consuming the ‘tour de force’ of culture which is upon me, and I hastily realize, real guerilla work is not fast nor reported, and that this last minute venture has succeeded to uproot my London being, and in it’s place this Netherlands city has seeped into my blood.

 

Performativity, a critical observation of self.

Not much has changed, I arrived on this earth as a mere observer and I have only a vague collection of early memories.

Defiantly conditioned by the loss of all male role models.

Having, embracing, loosing and coping with the loss of the lost.

Thus tainting men like a nuclear warhead.

Live OR Evil…

Shall I offer the second chance for redemption?

Nothing has changed, except now I have a time-obscured perception of my teenage years.

The mishap that was my adolescent era- voided by uncertainty and enthralled by angst – somewhat the participant within life’s unscripted, fragmented slapstick routine.

I had, I took for granted, I let myself go, and lost my mind.

I fall to my knees at the entrance of this sparse lacuna- my secrets under lock and key, my fantasies, simpler times, a smaller bra size and the haven where I am disguised without the dull misery one has been conditioned by.

Nothing will change, the past year has been a real life case study of how not to live, what not to do, what not to take.

I was prescribed, I took, I relied, I became tranquilized and I didn’t find.

I was promised the light, yet remained stranded within the depths of my jungle.

“Per aspera ad astra”

 My brain was the impenetrable vegetation, and overactive thoughts posed as fierce inhabitants that compulsively rehearse what has happened, what hadn’t happened, what could of happened, what may happen, what I’m sure was going to happen, and what I wanted to happen.

Dear fierce inhabitants, please divulge your master plan unto your master, the one with the mere human heart.

I am in a Doom OR Mood.

I have explored the emotions that lie underneath my shoes, the ones that you conjure with your claws, and the ones I trample on with the vain hope of their disintegration.

Something’s are changing.

Finally growing up, straddling my current benevolent existence.

  Journeying across the bridge, creating an alliance with sanity to prosper and rise with freedom. Purpose, fiction, opinion, confession.

 One is no longer restricted to the confines of the mind anymore, I do not pout at the circumstances, or at the revolution I am creating within, yet I survey my chances as an emancipated traveler, we come alive in the eyes of fear so I permit my mind to escape onto these walls, onto paper and onto any secondary material.

Something has changed, aged 21 and a half I am a veteran, equipped with all of the substances that convert me into something of a norm.

Inhabiting an illusionary mind space that imprints a state of resonance, I sink into what seems another life, framing the losses and seek solace that I am reimbursed with wisdom.

Now, I have the sunrise in my pocket.

Last construction

Screen prints on canvas and textiles, regarding stitch as a fine, dimension altering detail.
Cut-out 'preview' hole, causing an aesthetic composition and character change.

Close up view of a singular print.
Machine embroidery, one element that plays with altering the state of dimension.