2022 dances in as a benevolent ballerina in a shining tutu (2 2)
Her flowing muslin calms our hearts, her beautiful resilience eases our minds
With universal joy, our eyes gaze upon her, bitterness and worries of the past forgotten
What a lovely thought to embrace…
Through all that remains ahead for us (and it is quite heavy), may we resolve to pull through together
I wish you all peace, love, kindness, and good health in 2022 – Year of the Benevolent Ballerina
This image sits on the shelf of my bedroom closet where I see it every morning and remember…
Other than this greeting card, I was unaware of Mr Redlin’s expansive body of work or that- “During the 1990s he was frequently named “America’s most popular artist” in annual gallery surveys conducted by U.S. Art magazine.”
Today while writing this homage, I was moved to write Mr. Redlin to thank him. I learned he passed away in 2016.
Across the bridge where snow meets the sea, I comb my hair while wishing I were a swan. His broad hands stroke my delicate neck, gentle and curving on the point of a star.
I wake. Those same comforting hands are strangling me in the emptiness of shadow. Moonlight gives him the power to see my neck breaking, my jugular turning deep violet like the purple bed sheets of his new lover.
There was a time I would have gladly fallen beyond salvation. I’d have welcomed the pain. A tailspin drop to his bed, his mouth, his body. He touched my flesh and treasure books lost their gilded words. Warm gold lines melted into my bones. His shield of dragon horn turned silk upon our pressed bodies. He was magnificent. Those beautiful lips once whispered, “I love you.” The simple act of survival taught me to fight back. How many times must I do battle. I’ve grown weary. One weakness bests another. Pain rouses conviction, but I no longer possess the courage to face morning upright.
If my wand held an ounce of magic, I’d demand my mind dismiss its owner of memories. Dreams collect in a thick midnight veil, and waking hours are cloaked in cold light, light we once practiced magic in. A barred owl screeches as it lowers for a kill on the dark flattened tracks. The silver train streaks across the sky, but I’m not in a rail car. Trapped in a place that’s damning me, I will not adjust to the light. The sun is much too bright. It scorches earth and steals water. Charred holes open up into blackness and I watch all the white rabbits disappear. In darkness, I might remember the moon in kinder hours. Gentle arms cross my body where we lay together. Gold melts into my skin. His hands caress my neck. I scratch at his eyes then fly away.