Unmasking the Mask-Maker

You do not need to leave your room… Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait. Do not even wait, be quite still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked. It has no choice. It will roll in ecstasy at your feet.
— Frank Kafka (1883-1924)

 Unmasked, the she creates our many faces.  She spins archetypes from golden threaded fingers deeply rooted into her beating heart. She sculpts in clay and paper, tissue and wire. Reds splatter, gold radiates hot heart heat, and copper instigates a turn of the jowl.  Pinks, deep greens, lush blues and turquoise highlight the moods and foods on which our souls feast.

Splits and sculpts, twists and turns, shapes and sands, paints and glazes until the media shape shift. She births hundreds of visages – yours and mine.  She squeezes them out just as her own son from between her thighs for us.

Darkness and mulch, tortured and mute, constricted and free falling, held back, bewildered and bemused, revolving, unsolving, involving, unwinding, resigning, perplexing, non-plussing, shocking, slapping, loaded and loved. Hidden silent faces…until now.  Concealed…then revealed. Burning through until all that is left underneath – layer after layer after layer, is light and fire and shine and burned willing already-ness. Space.  Raw. Real. Openness.