Easter cold

Sarah Seager

An all out war has occurred, the internal struggle of wrestling with exterior world that tips on the edge of spilling out into everything.  And it all started with a simple conversation, finding out answers to rather quirky questions.

Stepping into a problem, or looking for the solution to a perceived enigma, the analysis leads one into shadows that only raise even more questions.  That which may have seemed confused or troubling, instead becomes crystal clear and dumbfounding.  The only reason for this, is by discarding the demarcations of time, the notion of years, decades, and lifetimes.  A flash of activity dims and appears to be gone altogether, yet is actually ever present, glowing with the tautness of an ember.  We all like a good show, something bright and pretty that is easy on the eyes and senses.  Push it and it oozes softly, conforming comfortably to our own notion of pleasures.  Cotton candy, taffy, bright pink and tasty, illicits shocks to the system in sugary highs that pass into stomach aches and migraines.  No red meat, fat, tissue can be found, nor marrow to feed the system, just sweets, filler.

Yet, it’s the tough thing, the stubborn canker that sits there unassuming, not demanding attention that speaks volumes.  A work that on its own is free to become disconnected from its creator, to exist unto only itself, disconnected, but bound only by a navel like mark or fingerprint that is imperceptible to the common viewer.  In this work, time has been relinquished, released.  Being set free, it wanders its own path forward, occasionally being discovered by a new set of eyes that can see what was hidden to those that came before.

And that’s the struggle, to sit and notice, to see and understand this difference.  Trapped in time, not set free like the work, bearings and sight are lost in the blindness of the moments that pass.   A bolt of lightning is all that is needed.   The echo of thunder wanted to ring, shaking the beams, rattling the glass, waking the world out of its slumber, to dim and ease back into unsettled sleep.

wbh

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About Sarah Seager

I am an artist that works and lives in the wilds of Los Angeles.
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