I would like there to one day be a box under my bed…

I often wish I were more talented or better able to express my ideas in a visual medium. I have some rather poignant imagery stuck in my head because and I am convinced that I am not the only person that can see a beauty in destruction. I was never an art student and the idea of making a snuff film with the local strippers involved doesn’t hold much interest for me – I would rather watch something innocent and pretty altered but still maintain those virtues.

I perfected my own blood recipe some years ago. I could wax poetic about the life force and nonesuch of blood but that too has never moved me. Instead I always keep in mind that blood is by far one of the hardest things to wash out of clothing. When I knick my finger cutting vegetables from the garden, or cut my leg shaving, I always grab a fresh white Kleenex. I press out the Kleenex as flat as I can on a hard surface, like ironing linen, and slowly place it over my tinny wound.

That moment when the white cotton comes into contact with blood fascinated me. I know it is just science, absorption, fibers and such but you could almost believe that the Kleenex, for a second, is refusing to change itself: it is perfect, white, pure, and clean, blood will only make it dirty and render the Kleenex useless and be tossed out.

I remember when the show Dexter first came out and in the opening sequence he cuts himself shaving and uses the corner of bathroom tissue to stop the bleed, something seemingly second nature to so many people let alone men who shave. It was now on T.V as it had been in my life and in my head. I felt exposed, I wasn’t comforted to know that some TV visual artist also saw what I see and in a strange way the split second image being out there for millions of viewers to witness sullied my private moments. It also had the reverse effect of making those moments more meaningful, just because it’s on TV doesn’t take away from my personal fascination.

Perhaps it is my definition of private, had I not written it no one would have known I thought so deeply of the noble Kleenex and it’s relationship to blood, but I never believed I was a snowflake or alone: I just would not want what I can potentially make be attributed to some modern pop culture acceptance of ‘strange is the new cool’ because I am aware that for a lot of people following the mode decides what is acceptable – even with art. My desire to put the imagery into a visual context and share is not to be famous, or for gain, but to see if I could possibly get that image in my head out and still have it be emotionally profound. I am not even sure I would share it but I know sometimes slaving all day over the stove changes my appetite.




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