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Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
by Glenn Redmayne
Pencil on paper a smudge of sweat evidencing feverish scratching to capture an epic image before it was gone. Inspired by Popi’s visual feast of colour and flesh I was taken to write the below poem. The origin of this portrait lies within her story ‘the kitchen baptism’. To me it spoke of the quest for visceral and emotional fulfilment and how that journey unfolds. Just like food, we need we crave it to survive and all the indulgent desires it illicits. This is a study of shared destinies, of promise short lived.
"Romance is sweet, tho this one needs salt to flavour his meat.
Sometimes they’re saucy, some unsavoury, they be the ones we approach with caution with bravery.
Entropy eventually enters the heart, passion decays, what once was love is now a boar, malaise.
Sad it spoils then slowly rots, all that’s left the bitter whiff of regret and stale ham-hocks!
So it’s up to us what we chose to do, be it lost in a vacuum, lost in a muse?
Do we crave revenge, salivate redemption, ponder obsession with our perverse introspection.
I succumbed to spite and concocting gruesome recipes, a touch of the gothic to carve back my dignity.
In the end love is spam and to be honest he was, well just a real pig to me…"
by Glenn Redmayne
Pencil on paper a smudge of sweat evidencing feverish scratching to capture an epic image before it was gone. Inspired by Popi’s visual feast of colour and flesh I was taken to write the below poem. The origin of this portrait lies within her story ‘the kitchen baptism’. To me it spoke of the quest for visceral and emotional fulfilment and how that journey unfolds. Just like food, we need we crave it to survive and all the indulgent desires it illicits. This is a study of shared destinies, of promise short lived.
"Romance is sweet, tho this one needs salt to flavour his meat.
Sometimes they’re saucy, some unsavoury, they be the ones we approach with caution with bravery.
Entropy eventually enters the heart, passion decays, what once was love is now a boar, malaise.
Sad it spoils then slowly rots, all that’s left the bitter whiff of regret and stale ham-hocks!
So it’s up to us what we chose to do, be it lost in a vacuum, lost in a muse?
Do we crave revenge, salivate redemption, ponder obsession with our perverse introspection.
I succumbed to spite and concocting gruesome recipes, a touch of the gothic to carve back my dignity.
In the end love is spam and to be honest he was, well just a real pig to me…"