‘Art Therapy’ by Adrian Cooper
Know what it is to feel pain. Learn to communicate it in a manner that is tangible. Lay the foundations for a physical mourning: pick the material that feels closest to the way her skin used to. Dig into it with force.
Create your negative mould. This is softer; the rubber feels soothing in your weathered hands. Clench it up and spit it out in reverse.
Fill the cavity with molten wax. Allow it to cool, to forget its anger, to forgive, before peeling away its backwards flesh.
Dip the wax replica in ceramic. Let the ancient texture pour over its new wounds. Do not let the wax know it is temporary, merely a vessel to hold material to come.
Place the wax in the kiln. Let it feel the heat until it is lost in your torment. When you take the ceramic out, the wax will be gone. Resist the urge to grieve: this is a lesson in loss. You must become accustomed to impermanency. You still have work to do.
Fill the empty ceramic with bronze. Its liquid will ooze into the forgotten corners. When the bronze becomes as cold to the touch as it is to the eye, break the ceramic shell. The metal will taunt you. It will compare its own dim shine to her hard eyes. Pretend not to listen.
Remove the bitter metal. Finish it according to her profile. Exaggerate the size of her torso; trick everyone into thinking her heart was really as big as you said it was.
Polish the bronze until you can see your artist soul, starving for recognition in the gleam. Do not look for too long.
Place in a public area. Broadcast your sculpted suffering. Embrace it fully. Be too brash with it. Demand that the world feels your pain.
Do not wait for her to feel your pain.
From issue #1: autumn/winter 2015
About the Author
Adrian Cooper is a spoken word poet and professional teen residing in a state of permanent existential crisis – or Dublin, if that’s a bit of a mouthful. Their interests include feminist discussion, petting dogs, outer space, and taking selfies.
