I Had An Idea:

For a work titled “Hanging Garden Of Detachment”

Consisting of small porcelain heads hanging from their twisted hair from the ceiling of a room.

I imagine 31 of them floating within a space, their bisque fired locks twisting around a rope that continues up through their absent spinal column, through the top of their head to the ceiling.

Below their necks would sway beautiful tassels.

Between the heads would be small pencil drawings of similar heads swaying and fluttering in their material lightness.

The unglazed heads would have their senses closed to the outside world.

Eyes shut, tongues quieted, ears blocked or folded, brows furrowed, or raised, nostrils pinched in an indrawn breath.

They would hang in silence, move in unison, defy gravity, and swing to a breath of air that circulates between them.

However the truth of their detachment, will be negated by the unlidded eyeballs teetering on scalps, eyes protruding from ears, eyes hanging from tongues, eyes shut but with eyeballs open in places they shouldn’t be.

This is a garden of cold stone heads, heavy in their material, light in their attachment.

The tassels flirt with us, seducing us with their silky beauty, swishing as we pass them by, these dresses of cold stone heads missing their cold stone hearts.

I may play them a song in the background, or recite a poem to keep them company, just to fill the air with voices they can fold their ears against.

Swishing, swaying, swinging, singing.

Let them hang those cold Theologians.

Oh well it was only an idea.