When Poetry

becomes life

and you forget

to write it

As an artist who has worked confessionally, cathartically, ritualistically and biographically, I always aimed to reach a resolution in my work. I did. I embodied everything I wanted to do and was it.

The result was that the art vanished. I didn’t just want to find it and look at it. I wanted to have it. As soon as I had it, it would become part of me, thus disappearing from my exterior world and ceasing to be something new to be discovered. This seems obvious written down but was not in practice.

It is just me now, carrying every bit of experience and realisation inside. Nothing needs to be performed or announced. I am not interested in repetition.

I have no attachment to the pain that was my flame. I just want the serenity and stability I have achieved. I just want the antidote that I created with the poison. I only know how to work with poison, truth be told.

So the next challenge is to learn how to work without poison. I have no idea where to start but I suppose I already have.