Jessica McCallum © Raincheck Exhibition 2010
SPLASH!
Ripples
merge you and I
into a private existence
mirroring each other
different shades of blues
silver rings of protection
white dots of hope
green patches of communication
blue background of loveuntil someone else
jumps in with both feet
splashing and spreading
confusion
drenching our safeness
with questions
green jealousy
and blue moon moods
holding a red umbrella.After a while calm silver
reflects our feelings
reminding us what we had
in our perfect puddle,
holding a mirror to our faces
before rubber boots intruded
so we realize what we had
before…Frances Macaulay Forde © 2010
I’ve always been a puddle person ~ drawn to them as a small child and drawn to them even more as a big child.
Interestingly, the Irish word for puddle is locháinín which certainly hints at ‘small lake.’
As a child, I loved the ‘boldness’ involved in getting my shoes wet. This was a source of ENORMOUS tension between my parents. Mother didn’t give a damn and always seemed to be able to produce spare pairs out of nowhere or advocate the tearing off of shoes and socks in all weathers so that we could feel the ground beneath our feet. Father, on, the other hand, had a thing about both bare feet and wet feet and I mean a major thing!
I think I truly came to puddles and wetness on bare soles as a result of interviewing a man who had been completely paralysed in an accident. He spoke…
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