Friday, August 28, 2009

Figure, Disfiguring

The candle began as a simple tool, just wick and molded wax, but soon morphed into the ultimate object of contemplation. Long after the electric light and back-up generator, the candle was at work with new purpose. People saw themselves in the flame, the even burn that quickly turned to thrash and panic, the wax relinquishing its form, the good posture collapsing, sloughing off and going cold. Up sprouted candle shops, beeswax farmers, candle match makers, votives, floaters, tea lights, candelabras and menorahs. There were candles for birthdays and candles for the dead. There were candle-making kits for kids, candlelight dinners and Candlelight Drive in Glastonbury, CT. Everyone knows the fascination of fire, but it was more than that. It was a body, the supposedly sole abode, taking itself apart, a controlled experiment in transformation, self-contained, solid to liquid, and back again.

5 comments:

Ron H said...

This is beautiful Sarah. For some morbid reason the descriptions of the changes occurring in the body of the candle made me remember a poem I wrote two or so years ago about Marguerite Porete, a Beguine, burned at the stake. The Beguines were absolutely amazing. Ron H

BJeronimo said...

I went to your brother's site and see that his Confidence Games book show was at the National Arts Club. I know the curator, Stacy Engman.

Is he having a show anytime soon?

kenburnsinnj said...

Sarah,
I believe I knew you when you carried Rachel by her hair.
Do you still remember her, abandoned on the stair?

SarahJane said...

Thanks Ron. Nice of you to visit. I'd love to see your poem. Send it to me.

Hi Bob - I don't think he's got a show coming up. He usually lets me know. Did you check his blog or his site? I think he'd announce a show there.

SarahJane said...

Hello Kenneth. So nice to see you. Rachel is a sad story. She was damaged in a fire at my parents' house when I was 24 or so. It was her second fire, having already survived one at my mother's mother's house years before that. Stupid me, I got rid of her and have regretted it ever since. How strange that you remember her! I remember you well, too.

Related Posts with Thumbnails