acrylic ink and paint on an approximately 6 and 3/4" x 6" linen canvas sheet.
I created this piece as an illustration for this vignette:
STORYBOOK LIBATION
Most nights and on some mornings, I wake up to find seven spiders dangling above me as I lay in my cold bed. I can never recall whether or not they emerged from one of the webs hidden deep in the neighborhoods and boroughs of those planets called Dust or if they rose like eight-legged saviors from beneath my dry, frigid skin. They didn't often look like spiders either. They more resembled carousel horses straddled and driven nowhere but in circles by what appeared to be eunuchs wearing nothing but soldier helmets.
The remnants of a spider carousel existed one summer in the basement of the basement of one of the country churches of my youth. I was sure no one else knew of its existence but me and those savior-soldiers who rode their horse-spiders during church services.
From my shelter behind a long abandoned pulpit, I watched those seven beings crawl down webs they'd woven, lead their horse-spiders in unison and then gather together and speak quietly amongst themselves once they reached the floor. They continued this way until one of them let out a long, high note and then they all joined in with a musical overture to precede their ride. To hear them sing in such a state!
As I watched them, the savior-soldiers appeared to me fully clothed in skin and uniform in one moment. In the next, I was accosted with the image of them in various stages of decay; their wounds, black holes or deep fissures impressed on their skeletons. And even in my youth, I understood while watching them, that this was their burial ground.
That summer, I marveled that I could hear the voice of the preacher from so deep within the earth's core where I was. I distinctly remember one Sunday morning as I watched the relentless ride of those soldiers, hearing the Father say: "Forget the five lives of starfish, the nine lives of cats, and the one sinful life you lead and recall, instead, the eight lives of spiders, the eight legs of horses, the high song of eunuchs and the sad spirits of soldiers."
by Tiffany Osedra Miller/aka Bassagirl
Copyright 2010
Posts
