Sunday, June 21, 2009

50 Posts #13, Woman with Wings

Woman with Wings III
18 x 18 inches, acrylic on canvas
A.T wrote,
"This story is only a little bit about bicycles.I had a beautiful canary named Pepper when I was a child. One day I came home from school and he was lying dead in his cage, soaking wet and obviously drowned. I was devastated. My parents would not confess to knowing anything about it. I knew that they were lying. I jumped on my bike and tore off full tilt. When I was rounding a corner I hit gravel, miscalculated the brakes and hit a wall.20 years later I was at a party in honor of my parents. A woman stood up and told a story about meeting my father for the first time. She had come to our house to introduce herself. As he was pouring milk for her tea, a dead canary floated out of the jug and into her cup. The room exploded with laughter. My parents refused to acknowledge that they had never told me. I was shocked and devastated.I went outside, lit a smoke, and kicked a wall. "

The above story contains both birds and bicycles - no small feat. Below is a bicycle story from E.S

I left my pee on Dundas Street:

It's my birthday and I am riding back home with my partner. We are expecting guests for dinner. The day is beautiful and he has taken me to buy my gift. But, it didn't really work out that way.The story goes something like this::.He wanted to hear about my night with a former lover. It wasn't a topic I wanted to discuss at that moment but his pain ferments very differently than mine. Not to mention his own lethargy from a grueling break-up with his lover. I was not right of mind. My confusion took me away from him as he rode ahead. I have missed my opportunity through traffic and end up turning the corner. I hate talking. My mouth doesn't work and my brain doesn't connect. Too much is missing, like the sense was knocked out. I am still trying to recover from the blows of the night before.

Yes, it is my birthday. My naked day. My freedom day. Freedom day – that's funny. It is in the moment of conception that our freedom is revoked. Trapped in a small shell with small skin in a small sack in a small womb in a small yet accommodating belly only to be pushed through a small hole. Usually. On this particular day, freedom isn't overly forthcoming. My partner is putting on his brave face in order to hide his animosity. His laugh isn't genuine and neither are the arms he wraps around me. No, today we don't feel very free. Where does this leave me? Day dreaming. Wondering if having other lovers is where my path lies. Day dreaming. Watching my partner ride farther away from me.

Day dreaming and missing my opportunity through traffic, risking my life, then attempting to jump a curb only to crash the front tire into said curb, hitting my nearly full bladder on my handle bars and in turn – leaving my pee on Dundas St.. A puddle to be exact. I stood there, staring at the puddle under my bike, not even caring if people were around. Tears streamed down my face. The salty drops falling into my pee puddle. But it wasn't grief or embarrassment or exhaustion; I was just grateful to be pantyless in a skirt.

We'll be taking a break from the Women with Wings, as my love affair with feathers came to a crashing end with this painting. I wanted it to be a "daylight" work , so I didn't push/pull the chiascuro too much, but would like to do something similar that is "war" related - that may have to be a commission.


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