When Home is the Mouth of a Shark
far downstream and things deep under
100 * 100, Acrylic & mixed-media (paper, string, leaves, plaster, plaster mask)
My father was tortured, with many of his friends. We escaped, and went from country to country, seeking a home.
When he finally found good work and a good place, he might have been happy, but the stable ground proved only a safe base to fall apart on.
The past consumed him until alcohol stepped in instead.
Now I am revolving backwards too, and I cannot reach the child I was, who is still down there.
Those are pearls that were his eyes
75.5 * 60.5, Acrylic, spray-paint & mixed-media (tree-bark, cardboard, paper, metal, hair, plaster mask)
What I put together after every fall
is different from what it was before
and everything that was not hard
has been washed away
the light and the rocks
77.5 * 67.5, Acrylic & mixed-media (stones, cardboard, string, sack cloth, plaster mask)
I gave all of the money I had, and my brother’s money too. Walked through countries and forests in broken shoes,
to serfdom in the land of plenty, where I pick grapes, and find my heart heavy.
columns
100 * 85, Acrylic & mixed-media (cloth, paper, sackcloth, cardboard, sand, plaster, plaster mask)
“Please, take these salted sunflower seeds. You are our guest” He said, he who slept with a small donated blanket in the parking lot, and had nothing but the clothes he stood in, and the bag of seeds. “In my country, it is an honour to serve a guest. Please allow me this honour.”
The countries walked on foot, the hiding in forests
with brighter joy and greater purpose
than in the craving eyes of our videogame boys
exodus
59.5 * 70, Oil & mixed-media (cardboard, sack-cloth, string, plaster, plaster masks)
Do you think that the faith has conquered the world
And that lions no longer need keepers?
Do you need to be told that whatever has been, can still be?
[…]
Men! polish your teeth on rising and retiring;
Women! polish your fingernails:
You polish the tooth of the dog and the talon of the cat.
[…]
[You] constantly try to escape
From the darkness outside and within
By dreaming of systems so perfect that no one will need to be good.
But the man that is will shadow
The man that pretends to be.
[…]
The Son of Man is crucified always
And there shall be Martyrs and Saints. [...]
- T.S. Eliot, Choruses from the Rock (VI)
between earth and earth
183 * 121, Acrylic, ink & mixed-media (sand, wood, plaster, plaster masks)
What we ashes ask
the whirlpool picks our bones
80.5 * 120.5, Oil on acrylic & mixed-media (sackcloth, cloth, pinecone, pine-needles, plaster, plaster masks)
My father said “I hope I will see you again before I die”
A prayer to the candle
119.5 * 60, Acrylic & mixed-media (sand, cloth, sackcloth, matches, wire, plaster mask)
The path is too forking
and winding and vast
to see ahead, and I am on the edge of lost
with a candle.
Uprooted
183 * 121, Acrylic & mixed-media (vines, cardboard, sand, sackcloth, plaster, plaster mask)
Like a potted plant
My roots search each inch given
Man does not live by bread alone.
ABOUT THEse paintings
I spent three weeks in the company of refugees and displaced people living outside of camps in the now demolished barracks of Belgrade and came away full of stories too big for me.
Stories of leaving family behind, most probably forever. Stories of crossing countries on foot with holes in your shoes only to be caught and to have your arms broken by the blows of the border police, and then to be sent back home and start the whole process over. Stories of war. Stories of what it is to be truly afraid.
This series of paintings is about the strength of the displaced people I’ve met and their faith that they will find a way.
I have sewed sackcloth over my skin and buried my brow in the dust.
My face is red with weeping, dark shadows ring my eyes;
yet my hands have been free of violence and my prayer is pure.
- Job, 16:14