#denis forkas
Miniature decorative motif (illustration for Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri/Purgatory, Canto 32), 2017
Acrylics on card, 11.4 x 11.4 cm
***
130 Then the ground, it seemed to me, opened up
Between the two wheels, and I saw a dragon
Come out and dash its tail up through the carriage;
And, as a wasp retracts its sting, it drew
Its poisoned tail back to itself, tore out
135 Part of the floor, and gloating wandered off.
What was left was covered once again —
As fertile land with grasses — with the feathers,
Offered perhaps with true and kind intention.
Both one wheel and the other and the pole-shaft
140 Were once more covered with them in less time
Than it would take the mouth to heave a sigh.
Transformed in this way, the sacred structure
Sprouted heads upon its different parts,
Three on the pole and one each at the corners.
145 The three were horned like oxen, but the four
Had just a single horn upon their foreheads:
Never was seen a monster like that rig!
Seated there securely, like a fortress
On a steep hill, a whore appeared to me,
150 Ungirt, with eyes agog to rove about.
And I saw standing by her side a giant,
As if he watched that no one take her from him,
And they, time after time, kissed one another.
But when she turned her lustful, roving eyes
155 On me, then that ferocious paramour
Beat her unmercifully from head to foot.
Then filled with jealousy and fierce with rage,
He tore the monster loose, and dragged it off
So far through the woods that just the trees
160 Screened me from the whore and that strange beast.
(trans. James Finn Cotter)
Post link
Dream of the Monkey Lathe, 2017-18
Acrylics on prepared paper mounted on cardboard, 15 x 28 cm
As it often happens the scene is part of a larger dream narrative but I failed to capture the rest of it. I remember watching a demiurge turner work at an archaic-looking lathe. Gargantuan hands fit a stiff human figure between the pins and start the machine. The figure comes to life under the tools yet there’s not blood. This strange magic lantern fascinates me; the living spindle melts, breaks into patterns seemingly independent of demiuge’s manipulations. Before long the grotesque object between the pins takes on a new shape. It appears to be a child and I move in to get a closer look. With a great shock I discover that the figure is, in fact, that of a monkey locked in a hideous waltz of anger. My meditation is soon interrupted by a sudden change: the monkey’s head stops like a flip book animation that reached its last page while the rest of the body keeps on spinning and transforming under the turner’s command. The last thing I can recall is the beast’s grinning face, its oily eyes piercing me with hatred.
Post link
