GLACIER MILK
I dreamed of a glacier. The glacier was my grandmother. She was standing in a snow field: a big breast-like icy mountain with white eggs nesting on her blue body -- wet seeds waiting to sprout, amphibia waiting to hatch, a being waiting to dive into the sea of life. She said: “I melt, I leak, I stream to meet the seas. I feed your mother-river; she carries her waters in her long wavy hands and caresses your ocean eyes. I feed your aquatic friends too: you swim together, wet and elastic, all over the world. You move, you drift, you flow through each other -- you are the waves. Your atoms cling together, and your wet molecules are rising up back to me. I swallow them and smile. I always know you are there. I feel you moving, sweating, crying, bleeding. I feel the waves you create.”
I dreamed of a glacier. The glacier was my grandmother. She was standing in a snow field: a big breast-like icy mountain with white eggs nesting on her blue body -- wet seeds waiting to sprout, amphibia waiting to hatch, a being waiting to dive into the sea of life. She said: “I melt, I leak, I stream to meet the seas. I feed your mother-river; she carries her waters in her long wavy hands and caresses your ocean eyes. I feed your aquatic friends too: you swim together, wet and elastic, all over the world. You move, you drift, you flow through each other -- you are the waves. Your atoms cling together, and your wet molecules are rising up back to me. I swallow them and smile. I always know you are there. I feel you moving, sweating, crying, bleeding. I feel the waves you create.”
Glacier Milk, porcelain, wax