Olive Charlene

Olive sent in three pictures as a set along with a poem and a sweet note asking if I would consider publishing them all together. I loved the images and was moved by the power of poem: the the beauty and the power and the honesty of her longing to simply be the passionate and sexual creature, unencumbered by the demands and duties of daily life, she remains at her core.

In the picture, we see her, Everywoman, faceless and beautiful nonetheless, with shapely legs, full breasts, cascading hair, seated, breathing, pausing, gaze heavenward, to reconnect the energies of the earth, the filaments of womanhood which flow around her, the erotic tides summoned from an inner ocean, deep and impenetrable to men, except as they are granted access by women.

I love how Olive has reduced the palette to browns and beiges, eradicated almost all the straight lines of the corners, i.e., where the floor meets the wall, the vertical corners of the walls, and obliterated any kind of  representative objects, like a chair, or a wall, or the floor, underneath her: it’s blurred and grunged into a conical or pyramidal shape. She isn’t sitting on anything, rather floating at the center of a vortex, but the vortex is all hers. So she is calm as she reclaims herself.

The air vibrates like singing bowl.