E.D. 2012, A Woman and a Bull, acrylic on Russian babushka, 30x30"
I am the Bull born from the head of Russian
woman. She is spun of chromosomes of primitive slavery. Barrenness is in her
blood; bleakness is in her cortex. Her thoughts are the unclean boggy soil,
inseminated by weird folklore. They leak through the scull staining archaic head-cover.
Grandmother wore it on her head, as did her grandmother’s grandmother, each
generation passing the old custom to their daughters, each daughter striving to
shake it off. Grandmother folds babushka neatly and hangs it on the back of the
chair next to her bed to stare at the recurrence of pattern. Floral clusters oozes
into her corpus callosum, and then discards into her granddaughter’s thoughts
where shit is born.
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