Thanks to the editors of THE ABSTRACT ELEPHANT for accepting this complete series that appears in the March 17, 2021 edition of their online journal.
In these pieces I explore the concept of proprioception—the sense of movement and body position. In particular, I’m concerned with the amazing ways the human body is able to move through space in small increments.
These digital paintings freeze some of the intricate and complex instants that occur when our muscles engage—with or without our conscious thought--in activities that require the full participation of our beings with another thing or person.
Born in a pool hall, Ernest grew up knowing how the most difficult—some would even contend impossible—shots could be achieved: by pretending that the laws of physics applied only to the actions of the balls as they moved across the felt, and not to the body holding the cue.
Casper hurried home in the fading light, thinking of his shivering children. The sticks of kindling cut deep and bloody furrows into his back, but his neck and arms and hands and legs continued to do what he’d willed them to do three hours before and so he just continued forward without thought or expectation.
Not three hours earlier, her mother had tried to tell Briana something of how it all was going to unfold, her old eyes furtive as she wrapped a brown wool shawl across her shoulders and slammed out the door. In the corner, her husband’s hands continued to run the blade of his knife across the whetstone. Then the midwife’s spindly legs folded in upon themselves and she collapsed and twitched twice upon the dirt floor as Briana’s pain began in earnest.
When the state trooper, flashlight in hand, waves us slowly past the scene of a particularly grim and grisly highway accident, our heads swivel upon our necks just as they must’ve done long ago.
The acolyte had always considered that particular year and model of motorcycle to be one of the most elegant examples of all the principles he was learning in the sutras. Once more his left hand turned the wrench slightly counterclockwise, so that he could close his eyes and at last reach forward with his right thumb and forefinger to slowly release the upper bolt one thread at a time.
As the furies came crashing through the skylight, Reginald tried to scurry away, once more regretting he’d been caught without his iron jockstrap. His hands tried to offer what defense they could, but suddenly they seemed to be only weak and feeble shields.
Maya loved the way her friend was able to return her kisses, mouths and lips and tongue working in perfect unison to achieve that sweet and forever inexplicable point of union and release.