What I see are
the apples.

I was told to write a script for The Aquamarine Stick.
the Aquamarine script, in which,
I was told not to use the „I“,
because I is embarrassing. The „I“ is a tall stick subordinated to change
It is in such a state that it cannot ignore that it is changing.
It’s like when Audre Lorde says that
Recognizing the power of the erotic within our
lives give us the energy to pursue genuine change within our world,
rather than merely
settling for a shift of characters in the same weary drama.
but here is what I see,
I am seeing it
The „I“ in the Venus’ face
An everyday character.
I was told the artist picked the ultimate „I“ this time.

I was told
She’s a mirror for everything
That was the first day.
This one was the second day. Yes,
I think this was the third day, this was the fourth,
and this was the fifth day.
After that she turned into a means of self-reference, and you both still existed.

There is a patriarch in the center of the room
who is nothing if not subject to change,
and his insides might have been made soft, and still,
he is immobile unlike the walking blooming sticks,
from a peasant world, a natural world,
a world of insistence, and irremovable.

To which I replied: a translucent yellow neutralises frustration
I said frustration, when veiled,
might unfold to be harmless,
yellow razor sharp. Nonetheless

Venus must have had a partner,

I said with implied envy,
though what I wanted to know is if
she was born in love. You mentioned a lover,
And concerned, you asked if you were being too generous
I said blindly
One can make work because one had been loved.

You said something earlier about approaching the Apples
and the sculpture from the outside.
Which prop, when it recurs, produces a true group,
a distinctive still-life world? That is the question.
Look at the dark between the lowest folds of the
Tablecloth

An apple in shadow never a cooler negation,
An apple in shadow never a cooler negation.
And once it starts on its way out of the apple's orbit, the
shadow goes on slashing relentlessly downwards,
becoming part of the pattern on the blue-and-black drape.

I look at the sugar bowl perched on its carpet,
or the apples rolling off their plate,
or the wall carved out of blocks of ice, and I know I am somewhere
beautiful but dangerous. Imbalance is perturbing.
The artist has worked hard at nesting the apples in place.

She seems to have taken
a bright yellow from the apple to the left
maybe it was meant first to
establish a highlight and put spot after spot along the top of the cloth,
making the boundary between white and yellow razor sharp.
Frames held by gold leaves dipped in earth and animal glue,
probably a rabbit that rotted
So in the same room is death, birth, and decay.

The two apples in their nest will surely put a stop to it. Is this why my eye goes to them?
The artist has worked hard at nesting the apples in place.