You wouldn't understand
Myself, throat to heel in monkish black
Herself, with a snort of rage and fear
She plunged sideways into my arms and back
We fling, scratch and hack
With savage drumming pounding in our ear
It becomes a squealing tempest of my legged attack
She rolls and flames her eyes and nose then raises a coin filled sack
Just when I think it’s over or so it would appear
My bit torn mouth opens to bite her bleeding back
My muse strikes me with a vicious whack
Then from my stomach I pull out a leg length spear
And I jab it in the wound on her lower back.
Half dead we have made a pact
That each and every Friday in the year
We fight to the beats of the groan from a boy we keep round the back.
Photo by Hana Rudderham-Baldwin
On the day Betty Page died Hana (my model) photographed me. We didn’t know she had died. I think Betty was in my body for that time.
It was nice to know our lives over lapped at some point with hers.
RIP Betty I guess this was our tribute to you.
I was an artist in residence about a year ago now, and I was asked to talk to several groups of students.
With the first group I was nervous, full stop I was really nervous, but with the second group I was trying to remember points I had mentioned from the first group and somehow I had developed a particularly jerky style of speaking that was a bit like a drunk on some sort of sex machine, but luckily that style had wore off a bit towards the end of the third group (not entirely but mostly).
Eventually my mind had connected to my mouth and I could quote my ‘talk’ verbatim each time after that.
That was until about the 10th group, where a class of Btech ‘first year’ students all came into the studio I was working (as usual) and I began my little auto pilot word-a-thon (that had become so boring and lifeless to me now that I could almost feel the words falling out of my mouth like thick slugs). I had done this lap dance too many times. In fact I had done it so often that I would barely look at the students anymore. But this one time I could feel someone looking at me stronger than usual and with a bit too much soul for a person from Norwich. I looked up to see if it was a stare my sixth sense could smell and in true ‘first site’ style there she was. My muse,
After that I wasn’t talking to anyone else in the class it was only her. When I had finished speaking everyone left but Hana and her friend, we spoke for ages about Berlin and art and tattoos and photography until we realised it was getting late, but before they left I turned to Hana and said something I had not said to another girl before, I said “will you pose nude for me?, I mean I have never asked anyone else…its not something I go around saying” (ummmmm blush blush blush) and she in true muse-like playfulness giggled and said ‘yeah I would love to’. I would like to say the rest was history but I never got her number and I moved back to London after that. I did however find her on Myspace which of cause was one on my classiest hours, I don’t like to make a habit of begging a girl to pose naked for me online, but in this case I felt I had to. And that was it, I now pose for her and she poses for me, it’s the happiest of artistic marriages. And I love her dearly.
- ► 2010 (32)
- ▼ 2009 (39)