Water of life...
Oil on canvas :- 20x24
£250
From my earliest recollections
, I remember my mother, always having a drink
in her hand. What its contents were, would not be revealed to my virgin mind until I was old enough to understand. What I do understand is that it lead to some bizarre rituals. Like chanting to herself, shouting out obscenities, in fact terrifying us all into quiet, unemotional wrecked children. You didn't dare make eye contact with her because if you did, you would become the focus of her mad, incoherent rage. She would force you to sit on her knee and make you kiss her, quite sexualized
in manner. If you got it wrong, she would practice on you until you got it right. You would have to tell her how much you loved her, what you wanted to do with her body, kiss her. You had all the other children's eyes on you, making you shrink inside. Drop to the bottom of the deepest ocean to escape. But she soon brought you back to reality with a slap. She might even bite your lip, face or ear. She would ask why you were pulling away. Scream vulgar words of hatred. Hit you hard. Then toss you to one side like you were unworthy of her sexualized deprivation. You were scum. Until next time, or she picked on one of the others...and that brought new fears...
, I remember my mother, always having a drink in her hand. What its contents were, would not be revealed to my virgin mind until I was old enough to understand. What I do understand is that it lead to some bizarre rituals. Like chanting to herself, shouting out obscenities, in fact terrifying us all into quiet, unemotional wrecked children. You didn't dare make eye contact with her because if you did, you would become the focus of her mad, incoherent rage. She would force you to sit on her knee and make you kiss her, quite sexualized in manner. If you got it wrong, she would practice on you until you got it right. You would have to tell her how much you loved her, what you wanted to do with her body, kiss her. You had all the other children's eyes on you, making you shrink inside. Drop to the bottom of the deepest ocean to escape. But she soon brought you back to reality with a slap. She might even bite your lip, face or ear. She would ask why you were pulling away. Scream vulgar words of hatred. Hit you hard. Then toss you to one side like you were unworthy of her sexualized deprivation. You were scum. Until next time, or she picked on one of the others...and that brought new fears...
No comments:
Post a Comment
Add your message here...