....your eyes widen from south to south,
your smile goes east and west;
your feet can hardly be seen
and the sun takes pleasure
in dawning your hair.
Your face and body come from
hard places, as I do,
from rain washed rituals,
ancient lands and martyrs.
The Bio-Bio still sings in our bloodstained clay,
but brought from the forest
every secret scent,
and the way your profile has of shining
like a lost arrow,
an old warrior's medal......
Landscape. That is where I have lived for the last several weeks. Inside a landscape of wanderings and wonderings.* (*A word that spell checker refuses to recognize, although I am sure it would recognize wax and poetic.) Cultural landscapes. Geographical landscapes. Literary landscapes. The list goes on.
And finally back to the figurative landscape. How does a doll-like whimsical figure begin to interpret a sense of place? Where does it start? And where does it ends? How does a figure with a totemic quality symbolizes a sense of home and connection?
My words were hibernating. I think I had a little frost-bite, too. The only way to warm up was to go and wedge some clay. And that was and still is the way for me to wake up, thaw out and get some work done.