INTERRUPT (Belladonna* Series, 2015)
It’s simple: drop a penny into the deep end of the pool then jump down to the bottom and bring it back up. Repeat. The world is blurred, then erased with the thickening weight of water as our bodies push downwards, driving towards goal. No matter how shiny or black, penny, a switchblade, a pair of sunglasses thieved from a table, keys. What matters is our slim fingers moving towards the glint or dark of the target. No competition in a traditional sense. We go and go. Tough if you're distracted as it falls, or water seduces light long enough to blur your sight. Yards that are fathoms, pressure that balloons, the chlorinated water designed to lift one back up to the surface and to lit air. A natural phenomenon that approximates tenderness: to float. If nothing else does, the water resists drowning you. Still we try. Fling ourselves. Towards ourselves. Uncollected. Down there where nothing stays long. Where everything we miss is drained and sorted into foreign hands. We push towards a silence that would keep us safe. No. Lifted again into the daylight where there is no grace. Dive. Belong to the violence that blooms in us.