oil paint over acrylic on collaged canvas, 61 x 61 x 3 cm

excerpt from my poem Pterlya (the specific areas on a bird’s skin where feathers grow), published this month in Poetry Scotland.

In the hot weather I am wearing short-sleeved tee-shirts. I look at my arms. Exposed they are dry in scaly patches, like a scabby potato.
Early life sun damage. Raised spots and chicken skin wrinkles. Like an old avocado. Running my fingers over the crepey skin, over the bulging blue veins is like feeling rough cotton sheets dried out on the line. I continue to expose them, nevertheless, under SPF 50 so the sun may make them glow golden instead of luminous white.
*
twinkling conifers
the dark sings   sleep obsolete
pin-feathers under my skin

– swanniness inspired by Alexis Wright’s book the swan book which is on the table in this painting – but of course I am in the wrong country and the wrong person for her swans, which are black Australian swans. It is an amazing book anyway. painting partly inspired by itself,