New Works by Rachel Yezbick
27.01.12 to 17.02.12
Contorted, her arm aches with the anguish of the night’s distress, of repetitious shapes that slightly shift leaving imprints of the day’s chaotic accumulations. It is an old theme, a familiar theme. It is one that does not care for the changes of time, the maturity of being. She will experience it all the same. It is the brawny arm of anxiety, the arm that wills itself into wind, force, and funnel, the arm that touches ground (once, twice, three times) to wake the latent sentient soul. It is no coincidence, no repetition of chance. Its purpose is biting and determined to wake the being inside.