The Year of a new beginning.
The year I discover myself in a brand new situation.
A continuation of my path. A path I have been working towards since I was 3.
Although that was not clear to baby Rachel at the time.
It was fun. Full of boogie, bounce and trying.
I must never forget this!
Dance is my one true love and of course with every relationship we will go through hardships but the love is always there. Ready to rekindle when it is looking a bit tired.
My love let us step together into the unknown with our eyes wide open.
I'm being spoiled to a good view.
Tight butts and muscles are the sprinkle on top of my soya filter. I sit and contemplate possible interactions and conversations.
I am a romanticist.
My heart and my brain are one.
They connect and dream up big plans and ideas for my future.
My heart won't settle for less and my head will be my constant reminder to never leave the cloud.
Too much at stake.
so many sliding doors.
Never be made to feel lesser than, again.
So, I am sorry.
I have neglected you.
I haven't written in so long. I have been stuck in fast forward, in this life.
The London Life as they call it with no pauses, breathes or glances upwards.
This fog of illusion that makes everyone appear successful or to be never doing enough. I though I escaped this mentality but I was sorely reminded upon the arrival of familiar Robins who visited me and bared their red chests to the world.
To the strange normalities the robots in suits possess.
The zipped mouths and fear to ever slip out a slight element of joy.
Eyes closed, lips part. Wiggling to find what was once there and now is lost.
Navy and Red make them seem to be part of the same team.
Breath can be heard between strums and notes. Platforms given, shared and received.
Mirror images. Father taking care of his daughter. Connections made briefly with strangers. Babies exploring, finding the new.
People watching at its finest.
Collisions avoided by touch of and, by a whisper. Care.
Space being manipulated and at times without need. Axis’s meet and allow that space to touch new skin. Spaghetti legs trying to find an escape. Face sandwich between the grey squeaky floor and 2 psychedelic spheres. Hands complete and tell us it is over.
Playground memories, scenes of happiness, sunshine and bathing.
Petals part to reveal beauty. Bodies touch and pass and protect.
Five headed creature slinks around the slime as if breath is its engine and fuel.
Backs open up like curtains to give us a glimpse of what goes on behind closed doors. The real show. The dirt and the grit involved in being so smooth and fluid.
Air pockets are created at the belly of the beast.
It is okay to laugh. It is okay to smile. It is okay to frown. Everything is accepted.
A transformer of the flesh and blood kind.
Then suddenly it is erect with the blink of a spectator’s eye. It is a supportive structure that will never leave. Gritted teeth and a moment of fear followed by a slide. Brows furrow as the line grows deeper, the line is orchestrating the event below him.
Fingers lightly hold together the remains.
Projected from the creases
Interestingly, I found my right boob easier and quicker to draw than my face…. Maybe because I see my face every day. I wash it, moisturise it, cover it up, and cleanse it to look better so I struggle to draw what is truly there? I had to draw my ribs, my dodgy, uneven, ribs that I try tirelessly every class to disguise. We are constantly seeking perfection for which there is none. Staring back at my drawing I feel slightly detached. I recognise aspects but I would not parade it around with a sense of joy and pride. It is me, after all, but truly how much is real?
Shifting and appreciating.
Slight itch causes a scratch.
Space shifts as if set. As if planned.
Where are we most comfortable? Favourite part. Configurations form structure.
Feelings change and break that. Internal changes make for sudden breaks in the silence. Followed by a hushed “bless you”.
With one phrase the space and its objects simultaneously shift.
First, second, third.
Orientations and relationships form, are left and rediscovered.
Paintings, sculptures, installations, hangings, people.
Chickens chatter, flutter and gather together. Caught in a frame. Their own frame.
Heel taps. Thigh drums. Boob scratch.
I know I cannot move until you go.
Do it again. Is that right?
Give it time to change. Find different ways in. if you like it try re - find it.
Heads tilted to gaze at the beauty above them. That which may not be there.
Faster steps breaking the enjoyment of viewers.
Gatherings provide tunnels.
Shuffling steps. Smiling through side eyes.
Performing even if they don’t know it.
Markers. Who is moving before and after you? Do not rely on reflection.
How is viewing and others embodied within yourself? Within your walks?
Of course, he’ll definitely change it.
Make shift bench.
Stacks of mini trampets.
Confusion masked by repetition.
Languages merge and flow like the contact between them.
Club like music soundtracks the scene.
The box appears and disappears within an instance.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
We’ve got it.
Leave that just now.
Body ripples, snakes and clicks into place.
Earrings somehow remain in place throughout the madness.
White cotton becomes black.
Apples glow to reveal all the secrets from the past.
Brand new and glossy but not practical.
Aesthetics take place above safety.
Tongues protrude and sweat coats.
Equity break and questioning.
And that is that.