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<--BACK -XII- Clouds rising in the background, encroach on a small triangle of deep purple sky. Before us, two parallel trees stand denuded of boughs, their tops cut in branched V notches from which a pole intersects. It looks like an arrangement from which an engine hangs suspended in the back yard while the gutted automobile waits nearby for its rebuilt motor. A tense expectancy in the raw misty air; someone's being hanged for the world to note. Like a chicken ready for bleeding, an impish figure is strung up by his left leg; a quick slit of the jugular, blood splatters in all directions and the pot is set to boil. Yet there's something incongruous about this man in light of his predicament. He looks like a harlequin dressed in red tights, pointy yellow slippers and a blue tunic tied in front by a row of ten tiny buttons. His arms and one free leg are akimbo forming three symmetrical triangles. Reflected in the peaceful face, is the untroubled heart of a person who's given himself over to the will of the infinite. The inverted body is a symbol for the reversal in his way of life. There'll be no blood letting here, no futile flailing while the revision's in progress.
Upright: Giving oneself over to the will of the infinite. | |
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