My Memory of Wings
As land bound creatures, we are obsessed with physical and metaphorical flight.
To fly is to be free, we revere creatures with wings.
Fragile light things rise above the earth, while we are heavy souls, burdened by our feet of clay.
Even though our lives drag us down into the earth, till we are buried beneath it forever, we symbolise our struggle with stone angels and cherubim.
These paradoxical creatures overcome the weight of stone to lift us, and soar into the heavens.
Throughout my life's journey my creativity has been shackled with heavy feet and yet in myself, I have raised my hands to the sky.
I have been beaten down and lost my art, but it has been reborn - time and again, and again.
This cycle my mother began, and I continue.
Through this series it flies anew.