Unbuttoning my belly

A lyrical essay inspired by the works of Marlene Steyn’s exhibition Unbuttoning my Belly at Lychee One Gallery, London.

Texts:
NICOLA WATERMAN, Curator of Interpration
LYNN SERAINA BATTAGLIA, Curator

Bearing Her aloft, we – her flowers – glide, spot lit, into the ring (or is it the circle of life).
What do they see, the faces beyond the cone of light? Circus. Freak show. Strongmen in red-
striped tights. Balancing act. A quintet of bearded ladies. All of that. Miraculous. Mundane.
Just the usual monthly performance.

I’m being consumed and I am letting myself be consumed. Did I choose this?
Parts of me that are so inherently mine become part of you.
You talk from and about the parts of me that are yours now and I let you.
All the while trying to not lose myself in the amalgamation.

I tried to look away but it made me unhappy.
I tried to turn around but we had different fixtures
and we were never going to really look each other in the eye.
But we are made from multitudes
and this connection will have to be enough to keep us together.

Choose a tail. Any animal, real or imaginary. Go. Giraffe. Why? ‘raffes forever!

Where has the time gone? I had an hourglass. Figure. Now you look through me.

Smile, it might never happen. But she’s standing on my mouth. Keep frowning, she says, it gives me a great rack. Meaty arms encircle my face. No loving embrace this. Eyes rest in the crooks of her elbows ready to be squeezed. Tears flow under the bridge my mouth’s become. She, my blue devil. She, me.

It’s a balance act;
The excitement of power and the anxiety of losing my freedom.
What’s its source, what’s its purpose.
Kut-Kut-Kut. The egg has sprung.
Does this mean I have to be ready?

My winding mind like a body is tangled up with you in an investigative symbiosis.
We are connected as one, sharing our story of how we got here:
The hands that made us and the fire that has forever bound us.

Images:
THE ARTIST AND LYCHEE ONE GALLERY, LONDON