Estrogen | |
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Estrogen
Once my tender heart beat openly on a bony shoulder full of hope and illusion twin carrion ready to peck the glitter from youthful eyes vulnerable in the crucible of dreams I gave freely milky liquid rushing down mountains of smooth skin the air was icy but I didn't feel it my offerings were bold and you took them coldly between greedy fingers your hunger boundless a worm in my intestine foolish simple host When the food ran dry my lips curled as I donned the legal garb of your addiction the bullet proof waistcoat briefcase and dry words y ou held in such esteem I was untouchable the freedom I lost chained to the graveyard of your desk caught between corporate babble and the ticking clock seemed a small price I was wrong Under the chainmail wasteland of ego and paper a woman's heart still beats my third eye suspended in animation waiting patiently a future that has already arrived if I loosened my tie, cut the ropes, dropped the box would the world end or begin? Magdalena Ball, Newcastle, NSW, Australia, Compulsive Reader Estrogen My cup is broken, it's never filled. . . and these eyes of mine, they play blind. Behind these glasses I wait for the day I can be seen, the day I too can see myself. I've been trying and trying on this ladder of 'be all you can be'. The world beyond is presented with great sight. For now I shuffle in my open for viewing brief case and place on my stockings. This mighty net I've found myself in. This only makes me want to try harder. I want to rip from this foundation I have been anchored down to. I'll change my style, I'll change my attitude, I'll make it a point to be heard. If you can't beat em', join em', just for a small amount of undetermined time. While I stand in the shadows, I learn. And with this wisdom, I can do anything. I can fly. Tina Carrigan, Richmond,Virginia Estrogen: Mind’s Eye I see more clearly with my mind’s eye the meaning of peace Though the world seems to have chained me in to one place As obscure as the world around me may become in my eyes I will still be aware of the treacherous and tedious fine lines Has it become too difficult to prescribe femininity to the world? Or have we become conformists pending decency for the girl? All this and more has become clear behind the broken lies When all that I know is subjected to the scrutiny of my mind’s eye We feel as though we have become too great when pertaining to this Have we achieved equality or are we merely feigning all of it? Softly spoken sophist muttering something of a different tune of jest Was there a reason for our bleating to uniform the blessed? Sick sadistic motives seem to float like wind as it blows What hides behind those secret frames, behind the windows? Might I ponder for a moment if you were anything like me? Though if it were so than I would think this a catastrophe When the thoughts collide in my own mind they seem to clatter Only soon I realize that my dreams have not been shattered As though reaching to catch the highest parts unknown to me Though as miniscule as those hopes certainly now seem to be I can not simply disregard what I might say that I know That I certainly must admit that the true nature is not shown Yet despite my writhing anguish in this business I’ll be fine But I might never ascertain the true meaning of my mind’s eye Christopher B. Hopkins Albany, New York Estrogen "Maybe I have to break the ice on this one. This painting(s) takes on an issue which certainly can trigger responses. A women in typically man’s clothes, with a tie, and she’s tied down too! What to make of this? A critique of the working woman? And why the 'mind’s eye'? Does she have real eyes? What's the significance of the girl on the ladder? I ask not to have the artist answer, per se. Just interested what people think." -Dean (Boston) The Artcrit Blogspot Estrogen "Wow, I just saw this artist's website. Very impressive. I love his puzzle-to-discover-every-detail paintings full of wisdom. This one, for me, is about how most "women lost their feminine essence to fit in a "men's working world? She used to feel inferior before, and now that she is in this 'men's world' she can feel succesful. Even. The little girl, is herself, before. Is it about 'feminist women'? She's tied up cause she can't fly if she's pretending to be a man and that's why the 'third eye' (wisdom) is blind. It's a funny subject to me. I've never really pay attention to this matter. I really like his paintings and discovering every detail. It's like every painting is a little lesson." - Romina Diaz (Buenos Aires, Argentina) The Artcrit Blogspot Estrogen "I waited for responses...because it just plain bothered me. I know that means it's good art. It evoked an immediate response. I am a working mother, no blind eye here. Goodness I could use a few more, and I wear men's clothes daily...I just didn't identify with it. I supersede all those symbolic stereotypes, but I can appreciate the skill, the talent that created the work...very technically wonderful, evolved. But gut reaction was negative, like overhearing a racist joke in a passerby's conversation...weird. It's not that I hate the painting, not at all. After thinking about it I came to the conclusion...I think it's more that I hate the stereotypes that he has shown all grouped together in themselves. It's ugly to see the world thru stereotypes. That's the reflective quality of the glassess. But that's good art when you can take three days to decide how you feel about it. Art is subjective, this one is introspective." - HMBT (Oregon) The Artcrit Blogspot Estrogen "I just think it is funny, he has this wit quality to be able to capture that 'silly human nature' and draw characters in a creepy and real way even though they are cartoonish." -Romina Diaz (Buenos Aires, Argentina) The Artcrit Blogspot The train at the station gets away in a head of steam, taking with it the captain of industry and these days his moll,his girlfriend and his fancy queen. It's because modern woman scorns her lot;she wants the wants of man, to be like him black tie, shirt, suit in place and earning the peseta,the buck,the pound, like only Señor the man can. Ah she sighs. Ah she cries and knuckles down to fame , up, up that ladder , one step at a time, up she goes again. Chasing elusive goals ,wild thoughts rush through her head. What's it like to be a man. No body said a woman might enjoy it not like a man but only like a woman can. And there behold the great divide: those thoughts in each our heads. Ask the guru, freeze his thoughts and see with the third eye too, how the Lotus springs open,hope eternal, to the master touch and hardly to the mistress and her whim. Remember lessons learnt from book can fly away like the bird at the slightest ever turn. So woman purse your lips , draw them full together, concentrate even more so if together you must live . And if woman must aim like she does, she fill herself with the shakes and quiver, her legs will always let her down, then her chest , heart and liver. And if she smokes she's a clown.. -Cleveland W. Gibson, (Author of Billabongo) Faringdon, Oxon, United Kingdom |