What is Behind the Saint’s Eyes When
They Look
Through Tears to The Altar?
2021 Commission for Edinburgh Art Festival in response to Isaac Julien’s film Lessons of the Hour. Curated by Tako Taal as part of the What Happens to Desire... programme. The work was displayed across three billboards on Calton Road, Edinburgh. Photography by Kamilya Kuspanova.
1. The Mute
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In the middle of a field of tall grass, I found a yellow stone in the dirt, and swallowed it, a secret. Its hard juices stung the backs of my hands. Crying for my mother, the tears streamed through the sides of my mouth, running through my teeth, and the dream of the grass became deeper, and redder.
2. The Martyr
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I became crazed then, and began running in circles, biting the air, the stone burning in my belly. The burning was watched by everyone, and it built up behind my eyes, laughing. In a high up window I could see them all playing in the old house; it is Christmas, we can't sleep and I am burning, I am burning.
3. The Baptism
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All dead, I bathe in my own reflection.
The stone has flowered and the flowers fill me. Light is poured into the eyes but this is not forgiveness - it is the silent answer to a foolish question. A reluctant acceptance. We bathe together now, touching hands. Tonight we are going dancing.
In the middle of a field of tall grass, I found a yellow stone in the dirt, and swallowed it, a secret. Its hard juices stung the backs of my hands. Crying for my mother, the tears streamed through the sides of my mouth, running through my teeth, and the dream of the grass became deeper, and redder.
2. The Martyr
I became crazed then, and began running in circles, biting the air, the stone burning in my belly. The burning was watched by everyone, and it built up behind my eyes, laughing. In a high up window I could see them all playing in the old house; it is Christmas, we can't sleep and I am burning, I am burning.
3. The Baptism
All dead, I bathe in my own reflection.
The stone has flowered and the flowers fill me. Light is poured into the eyes but this is not forgiveness - it is the silent answer to a foolish question. A reluctant acceptance. We bathe together now, touching hands. Tonight we are going dancing.
