My forms and shapes are embedded into the land, I dig my fingers into the earth and grasp at the soil to pull it out, I create bodies and life from this earth and make it into something of my own.
My art lives and breaths on its own, it flies away once the body has been forced together by my hands and once it takes the first inhale of breath I will never know what this once immobile earth will make of its own existence but I only hope now that because the cogs are turning, the brain is chanting and body is moving that it will make something of this new given life, that I will make something of this new given life.
As this sculpture of land and body sits stagnant in my garden, I believe the soul of it flies around because I built this body with intention and life as once I had dug and lifted life from this earth, battling with the grass and rock that tugged the precious insides back down further and further, it never wanted me to take what was rightfully theirs but to give myself purpose I had to take what wasn’t mine. I wanted that soft untouched soil to build my body, to create a new life that I wish could be mine.
All I want to do is fly away and make a better place of the world I live in, I do not want to die burning up on this forsaken earth, that is why when I need to build a new body I must reach to the earth and bury myself within it as it is the only place that I feel at home, where I can lay myself deep down and face no harm as the worms, bugs and shit that lays next to me will have no judgement for how scared I am.
But life continues to grow and I continue to dig my fingers into the land, grasping for something and anything I need to leave no trace whether that is when I create something I care about dearly or me living freely with my newly found body, as long as I dig up my body and create it out of earth and soil the only trace that will be left is of soil. New life can be grown from my trace and I leave it in the ground to let others build their new bodies from my old soil, flowers will bloom, grass will grow and the worms will feast on me and what I had once created.
Please take my lungs and replace them with soil as I want to melt into the ground and not worry about breathing the air that one day may burn in my throat with regret if I do not do enough to help save the only place I call home.
