she is night-blooming, shade-flourishing. like a false memory, her illusory remains are kept in yellowed-by-the-time containers. rectangularly irrelevant. i repeat: she blossoms at night. only then. and she grows her petals in all types of shapes, but restricted colors. one cannot be free in all of the self dimensions, she writes obsessively in an attempt to convince her world. i should add: she was moon, never sun. she repeats: i flourish in (your) shades, in your shapes.
she is night-blooming, shade-flourishing. like a false memory, her illusory remains are kept in yellowed-by-the-time containers. rectangularly irrelevant. i repeat: she blossoms at night. only then. and she grows her petals in all types of shapes, but restricted colors. one cannot be free in all of the self dimensions, she writes obsessively in an attempt to convince her world. i should add: she was moon, never sun. she repeats: i flourish in (your) shades, in your shapes.
she is night-blooming, shade-flourishing. like a false memory, her illusory remains are kept in yellowed-by-the-time containers. rectangularly irrelevant. i repeat: she blossoms at night. only then. and she grows her petals in all types of shapes, but restricted colors. one cannot be free in all of the self dimensions, she writes obsessively in an attempt to convince her world. i should add: she was moon, never sun. she repeats: i flourish in (your) shades, in your shapes.
she is night-blooming, shade-flourishing. like a false memory, her illusory remains are kept in yellowed-by-the-time containers. rectangularly irrelevant. i repeat: she blossoms at night. only then. and she grows her petals in all types of shapes, but restricted colors. one cannot be free in all of the self dimensions, she writes obsessively in an attempt to convince her world. i should add: she was moon, never sun. she repeats: i flourish in (your) shades, in your shapes.
collage is the exploitation of the chance meeting of two distant realities on an unfamiliar plane ... and the spark of poetry that leaps across the gap as the two realities converge. max ernst, 1962
ana francisca is a self-taught collage artist residing in the bronx, new york.
in her free time, she is a cognitive neuroscientist.
~
her thoughts rest on the point of her fingers.
she cuts to remove veils, she glues to re-arrange her worlds.
she writes to heal.
collage is the exploitation of the chance meeting of two distant realities on an unfamiliar plane ... and the spark of poetry that leaps across the gap as the two realities converge. max ernst, 1962
ana francisca is a self-taught collage artist residing in the bronx, new york.
in her free time, she is a cognitive neuroscientist.
~
her thoughts rest on the point of her fingers.
she cuts to remove veils, she glues to re-arrange her worlds.
she writes to heal.
collage is the exploitation of the chance meeting of two distant realities on an unfamiliar plane ... and the spark of poetry that leaps across the gap as the two realities converge.
max ernst, 1962
collage is the exploitation of the chance meeting of two distant realities on an unfamiliar plane ... and the spark of poetry that leaps across the gap as the two realities converge.
max ernst, 1962
wounds. seed-bearing organisms.
a convulsion that breathes both despair and hope permeates my skin
[as i strive to achieve the paradoxical effect of making myself trivial].
but the wounds are fresh, propagating.
insatiable.
and did she tell you that when i bleed only seeds are to be seen?
plant me, cover me with the dead putrid leaves we hide under the conscious and the tangible.
tie me with the red thread with the pretty shine with the right light.
and i shall become flowers. flowers that are wounds that are flowers.
flowers nonetheless.
