Blog # 16


Exhibition at Bokeh Gallery.

A coterie of dear friends gathered at the gallery to support me and we had dinner together afterwards back at Daylesford house. I showed my menarcheal flower series.

Blooded. M said the word––asked what it means. She’d cut herself. I told her I like the poetics of that word, having blood of a certain kind. The blood that I have is diasporic––it longs to traverse a foreign genealogy. To wander. To stray. To go rogue. To enter the woods. A blooded word, a creationary text, a nexus of child, a blood of mine, a lexicon of contusion, of jettisoned flow. M worried: what if you can’t stem the flow? What if it keeps bleeding, until end stopped self? M finding her limit today in blooded.