Fortieth Day

Francesca Woodman Untitled Rome 1977-78.  Perhaps it should be titled, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?”

 

Fortieth Day
100 Words

Thaw, the fifth and final season, follows in muffled white steps behind Winter. It wakes like a charging bull with a caustic rage, unleashing pent-up black thoughts, sullied emotions, and questions of sanity: leaving you fully exposed to blind spots told in epitaph. It’s the cruelest season with the chilling betrayal of your own frostbitten hands beating you down, down to nothing, down to less than nothing. When you realize you’ve had enough you find yourself channeling the iconic genius, Francesca Woodman hanging from the door casing before a final leap of faith into the unknown: leaving a void forevermore.

 

“The joy that isn’t shared dies young.”
― Anne Sexton


Video — “
ARTIST ROOM – Francesca Woodman * *

 

Copyright © 2018 Mia Pharaoh. All rights reserved.

 

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Dove

Photographer Sarah Moon

 

Dove

 

With fragile ankles
We turn on pointed toe
Extricating ourselves
From the lukewarm rubble

 

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”
― Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

 

Sarah Blasko –Bird On A Wire”                         *      

 

Copyright © 2018 Mia Pharaoh. All rights reserved.

 

East

Photographer Erich Hartmann

 

East

 

Reduction, a man-made affliction: the queue that holds abundant room for cruel intentions and harsh realities. Snapshots of the transparent and apparent blanket everything with a blasé gesso malaise when properly prepared hushes questions of right, leaving blank stares as empty armless hugs, known as the huddle: an odd semblance of warmth. The Deplorables distinguished as righteous, the righteous disguised as deplorable share in the madness and madness: a never-ending role of one in the sameness.

 

“It’s sickening how The Machine treats the individual parts.”
— June Gloom, The Gray Zone

 

Balthazar –The Man Who Owns The Place”                         *      

 

Copyright © 2018 Mia Pharaoh. All rights reserved.