Stumbling Under
Stumbling Under
by Brentley Frazer
catalogue essay for
Stumble then rise on some awkward morning
An Exhibition by Ben Frost
What about the time you could have left. Hum to self to bury the musings (whistle a pop tune or something). It all made sense suddenly, maybe just for me, but space expanded, breath suspended, the Familiar Ache to Touch had poured me too many drinks, again. She turned this way and was a blur, and then back that way and for a second you could have sworn she had lain in fields with you… but her name? Digging around in your bag you can’t find that photograph, the one of the maybe aquainted standing under a rusted ferriswheel, you know, the one that emphasised the ugly parts of her face.
Shouting - Are you Love? as you chased some rabbits across the abandoned fairground. And - You don’t know Me! As I gaze on you at dawn.
Now your face is made up of fantasies, the ideal you cripples my heart when by chance I see you in the crowd. You are digital also, I see you in pixels and on the screens in repairshop windows. You are the diplomat a famous writer fucked in spain, the news reporter some artists are horny for, other faces I can’t quite focus on…
Seconds, frozen in vectors, when you were open to suggestions and I had forgotten my camera. The paint itches from where I ripped my skin on the big picture at the exhibtion of memories.
It’s criminal how I think of Whimsy in her flimsy dress.
Brentley Frazer
Brisbane 2003
© Brentley Frazer 2003
Catalogue Essay for Stumble then rise on some awkward morning
An Exhibition by Ben Frost The Farm Space Feb 7 2003 George St BRISBANE.
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