In Winter

http://www.artnet.com/artist/650665/grandma-moses.html

Winter as flat as my forehead it snows like I sneeze this tableau has froze. When I wake up tomorrow I'll cut through paper with fat fingers. I've wrapped you in canvas, a gift. I didn't go outside much I didn't wander cutting trees open to push on even further, beyond the perimeter where I have painted myself into a corner.

Gilda Louise

http://www.ithoughtiwasalone.com/2008/10/23/gilda-louise-lorenzo-castore/#more-696

I want to be both artist and muse I am painting my own eyes I am extracting glitter from the snow it is raining and I hide with myself and the women I dream of can all be me all different versions with different languages and when I love I want to feel it too.

Chlorosis (Love Sick)

http://www.moma.org/collection/artist.php?artist_id=7521
http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/artists/marlene_dumas.htm

Innocence, like the trunk of a car where my error is looking backwards while I'm being propelled further into what ought to be the right direction I just haven't turned around yet and recognized trajectory or time. I know what love can do I know that my body can begin to grow too large for last years clothes. In other people's faces I see the possibility of error and the ability to succeed and I see what I have done or could have done and will do just by the lines around their mouths and I am opening steadily, expanding at the right moment.

Children of the first bed

http://www.jaski.nl/Kunstenaars/LesDeuxGar231ons/tabid/488/Default.aspx

A poisonous child painstakingly peeling away the skin from the frogs having wanted to get closer they are afraid of the venom I shoot from my teeth. To keep all of the kills in shoe boxes, with bodies conjoined by the laces is like taking snapshots and remembering what you looked like 3 years earlier. Preservation does nothing differently in-between the skin and the paper.

Come make me happy

http://www.artnet.com/Artists/ArtistHomePage.aspx?artist_id=9869&page_tab=Artworks

This morning I am waiting for body and not finding it, through lacerations of colors and soldering of sweat glands, my upper lip has quivered to the point of re-interpretation. The maintenance of movement is a charting of presence on graph paper with drops of melted jewelry demarcating mobility, and frantic gesturing - I pointed inward.

A Tumbling Affair

http://sarahbarsness.com/index.html

Mesmerized by the way the clouds bled into each other I sewed my hands together to observe how my fingers would fall, creating crevices and enclosures that could never have occurred without a forced stretching and unifying of skin. The way they bled made stains of oceanic caves on the fabric of my lap and patterns of rust new bacterium could slice through and re-pattern in strains of microscopic breath.

Surrounded by Akule

http://www.waynelevinimages.com

How much is like liquid? As though breathing air were all that different than inhaling too much water, and I myself run along the contours of the chair like I was made from the rain as opposed to just caught in it.

I like myself, I touch myself

(eternity is approaching)

(as much love as pain)

(sweet punk)

(syndicate of silence)

http://jeremiegrandsenne.free.fr

It is Wednesday, it is snowing. Footprints can come from people or they can come from ghosts. I used to get up very early in the morning and go out in the yard. I wouldn't come in until my skin was raw and almost frozen. I would come in only to thaw. I miss the days when thawing referred only to flesh, to my physical properties.