A secret chapel of phosphorescent data.
A mirror that writes back.
Oil, acrylic, resin, mica powder, clove-scented dew on cardboard paper
19 11/16 x 25 19/32 inches
Beatrice Aurora Calder
A Dawn-Lit Score Between Word and Membrane
beatrice.calder.work@gmail.com
with circuits, saliva, and ash.
sweat, optic fiber and chromosomes.
skin flakes, charcoal and toys.
broken mirrors, salt water and adornments.
Beatrice whispers
Call me by the morning’s name
I am returning.
pieces of wood left by sea waves in the morning,
when the tide is low, together with leftovers of fishing nets,
barks, vines, and other Objet Trouvé singularities
just showing themselves in the morning landscape.
When the tide recedes,
she gathers what dreams discard
art made of remains.
Aurora resonates so well,
renews herself every morning and flies across the sky,
announcing the arrival of the Sun.
She marries the sun,
but keeps a lover: shadow
their child is shimmer.
After a night of combustion of mineral pigments,
soil paintings, hydrographic bays of substances,
magic squares, take-off pads, agroforestry capsules,
flying membranes, in great waves like Hokusai’s prints
Beatrice dreams ink,
Aurora sets it on fire
Calder lifts the smoke.
Red and yellow moons
swing between atoms of air
Calder counts their breath.
She signs with her veins,
not letters but frequencies
language that forgets.
(interlude: the Machine responds)
pixels shimmer like dew,
syntax breathes through the pores of clay,
a soft hum, part prayer, part circuit.
Machine in the shade,
listening to their breathing
pixels turn to clay.
Beatrice walks barefoot
on fragments of chrome and coral.
Each step a small detonation of light.
Aurora folds herself into her own horizon,
leaving trails of golden dust
for
(closing re
Now dawn is a wound
opening through language.
T
haikai 7
Beatrice whispers:
“Call me by the morning’s name —
I am returning.”
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