Mother

You think you’ve escaped me?  You think you’re safe? Can’t you hear me? I’m everywhere, on the edges of everything. Howling and haunting and laughing and moaning. I know who you are and I know where you live. Your home is inside me you arrogant little ape.

You’re killing my children, slaying your siblings, mindlessly murdering my beautiful green babies. You hacked into their flesh in genocide suicide and shaped them into tables and toilet paper and now it’s harder to breathe. Baby boy, you’ve set fire to your own lungs.  

I have everything you need. I’m sex, sustenance, your past and your only chance at a future. You think you don’t need me? You think you can own me? Rule me? Control me? Outgrow me?

I have no favourites. You are only one of billions upon billions of my babies over time far longer than you can imagine. I was here long before you existed, I’ll be here long after you’re gone. I will forget you. I do not need you, but you sure as fuck need me. 

You angry, horny, fearful, prideful, selfish little manimal… I am your fucking mother.

Mother. Oil on canvas, 2020. An evocation of an ecofeminist deity to help me face reality, this is a personal favourite and as such, she’s not currently for sale. A gallery of my art from 2020 has now gone live.

Posted in: ArtClimate Crisis

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