“ Adios, Carenage” heralds the opening stanza of Derek Walcott’s poem The Schooner Flight. Walcott’s protagonist leaves his mistress, Maria Concepción, to sail up the archipelago. Having left his wife and children as well, he is wracked by guilt and haunted by impotence. The schooner’s deck and the sea’s depths are violent, leave him hallucinating, diving as for pearls and finding only ghosts. Seeking refuge in an island bay, harbour prostitutes’ “spiky cunts” fail him.
Has Maria Concepción’s cunt, for which he has upturned his life, been waxed? Is it overgrown, or not yet matured? Walcott’s – and my – Maria is thornless, smoothed-over and polished by desire. She is slippery, slick with longing – his and her own – and cannot grasp herself. In her hauntings, she is draped in lace, ephemeral, the moon.
Shown at Santa Maria Paraffina, a group exhibition with Anne Meerpohl and Luiza Furtado, part of Cake & Cash‘s summer program at MOM , Hamburg. To read about the exhibition, see Katrin Krumm at GalleryTalk.Net.
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