Not a Rothko
Not a Rothko uses shapes, colours & textures from the streets to interrogate the weave of the human experience. It reframes dirty walls and pavements around East London to celebrate the small details in what may usually go unnoticed or be condemned as ugly, and inspire writing around memory, intimacy, trauma and healing.
Here is a sample of photos and accompanying poetry from the collection.
Here is a sample of photos and accompanying poetry from the collection.
“God of every beautiful thing, make us people of wonder. Show us how to hold onto nuance and vision when our souls become addicted to pain, to the unlovely [...] Grant us habits of sacred pause [...] Let the mundane swell with mystery that makes us breathe deeper still.”
- Cole Arthur Riley
- Cole Arthur Riley
dreamscape
in moments between sleep I find myself slipping into this dreamscape I find myself falling through the weave of the past through the weave of the future threads falling bare find myself threading pieces of history with pieces of maybe find myself travelling against time find myself aching for a moment lost in my mind sitting quiet at the veil shaking hands with a man I met once find his name on a loop find my legs moving as if they were hands find my eyes staring and laughing and cooing find the soles of the my feet bare and cut and inviting me to stare right back at them
in moments between sleep I find myself slipping into this dreamscape I find myself falling through the weave of the past through the weave of the future threads falling bare find myself threading pieces of history with pieces of maybe find myself travelling against time find myself aching for a moment lost in my mind sitting quiet at the veil shaking hands with a man I met once find his name on a loop find my legs moving as if they were hands find my eyes staring and laughing and cooing find the soles of the my feet bare and cut and inviting me to stare right back at them
letting an open heart go to rust
when she waved I took a photo with my eye and stored it in the back of my mind and let it wait there ‘’til I needed it until I needed her and let myself forget and let the years pass by until I needed her I needed it and so I put my hand inside my skull and rummaged round but all I found was a plastic glove torn up and covered in dirt
when she waved I took a photo with my eye and stored it in the back of my mind and let it wait there ‘’til I needed it until I needed her and let myself forget and let the years pass by until I needed her I needed it and so I put my hand inside my skull and rummaged round but all I found was a plastic glove torn up and covered in dirt
still here
sweet trail of your voice
in the back of my head
like the marks
of a child through mud
sweet touch of your hand
on the curve of my neck
searching for home
sweet love
sweet love that never
quite knew the way to love
that never quite found
its voice or touch
still here on my neck
still here in the mud
still searching for home
sweet love