Lately I have found myself asking, is this the work? or this or this? Brittle re-enactments, memories spiked. Brined. Wandering. I spend hours lining up words on the foreshore of my tongue. Allow them to self-organise. Transpose. The mouth, both vessel and cavity, at once ringed by language and scattered in glittering shards of LaBelle’s oral imaginary. The work of holding what cannot be held. Feathered globe of dandelion. In just one breath.
WENCESLAUS HOLLAR (1607-77). Etching of a pink-mouth murex shell (Phyllonotus erythrostomus) c.1645. Held in (link: https://www.rct.uk/collection/themes/exhibitions/amazing-rare-things-the-art-of-natural-history-in-the-age-of-discovery/the-queens-gallery-buckingham-palace/pink-mouth-murex-phyllonotus-erythrostomus text: The Royal Collection Trust).
