Digital reinterpretations...
Frustration eats away at me. The limitations on my mobility cage me. I need to to make journeys, touch materials, experience texture and lighting effects for my embryo artwork to grow. But I am confined to the radius of my powerchair; and the psychological effects are depressing.
I hide in words.
And I revisit artwork. Reinterpreting work digitally means the basic stuff is accessible, if only I wasn't working with a crip-computer.
I see oceans;
creative depths
amazing beneath me;
taunting, tantalizing
as I float
on the surface.
I hide the ache of wanting;
piggybacking my
emotional survival
on other people's
energy; the Rush concert
Eric Clapton. I watch
Patrick Stewart playing crip.
The ocean surrounds me and
I feel the intensity
of its stillness. My brain fires
in multiple directions, but
lack of mobility
is drowning me.
I make sashimi and try to hang onto my Japan inspired identity.