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This is a piece focused on nature. The image is based on fiery colours: dark oranges and reds. The top right hand corner is darker and it is here where the roots begin—thick, black strands streaking and curling their way around the canvas. There are also flower buds in the top right hand corner, black like the roots, with some green coming out of them—the beginnings of growth. There are dark orange ones roots as well, snaking their way around the image. The focus of this image is colour—the image is enticing with its warmth and richness—the background is a multitude of yellows and golds and purples.

This is a piece focused on nature. The image is based on fiery colours: dark oranges and reds. The top right hand corner is darker and it is here where the roots begin—thick, black strands streaking and curling their way around the canvas. There are also flower buds in the top right hand corner, black like the roots, with some green coming out of them—the beginnings of growth. There are dark orange ones roots as well, snaking their way around the image. The focus of this image is colour—the image is enticing with its warmth and richness—the background is a multitude of yellows and golds and purples.

feast of mabon

August 9, 2017
 

Artist's Statement

I live my art the way city fog knows to swallow
something whole enough to make it seem
iridescent from a distance I live my art the way
my body follows the curves of landscape and my
mouth is stained cadmium

They ask me what happens when poets paint
I say that they turn scarlet
that my guts know how to be an artist
even when my hands forget  
It's in the way trees sometimes argue
and crows come tell me stories

My art is stained in pinewood, 
in turpentine, in lipstick, dead skin and
fox fur my art is a fist unclenching, 
clenching, unfurling into poppies
My art is scraped knees on pavement
the way a wound opens so sweetly for
the dirt the way the dirt echoes the colours
in my blood

My art is a tongue, swollen, sprinkled in sugar
Licking the last bit of "Yes" off every surface
sometimes a canvas knows how to bury
the last bit of beautiful before I do
sometimes paper loves a beautiful thing
before I do
sometimes I am a beautiful thing

They ask me what happens when painters write
I say their spines become metaphors
For branches flinching then
bending to easels
then straightening to become  
something unbent again

 

ABOUT THE ARTIST

Colour photo of a woman standing in front of a white wall. She is running a hand through her black curls. Her face is turned slightly away from the viewer.

Colour photo of a woman standing in front of a white wall. She is running a hand through her black curls. Her face is turned slightly away from the viewer.

ELISA VITA is a 19-year-old fine arts student living in Quebec, Canada. She is fascinated with the concept of Otherness and hopes to explore the beauty of the peculiar in both her writing and visual art. Her poetry has previously been featured in The Rising Phoenix Review. For more of her work visit her Instagram: @_elisavita_ and her Tumblr: inkchantments.tumblr.com.

In artwork, issue 1 Tags apotheosis
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