Blue is breath

Blue is a slipped silence

Blue is a silence speaking

Blue is a figure visible then vanished

Blue is a slant in perception

Blue is contradictory

Blue is a body in water

Blue is the water of scattered light

Blue is a body inside another body

Blue is the stammer of pleasure

Blue is essence: call this love or soul

Blue is the ink marking on skin

Blue is the skin branded

Blue is brushed history

Blue is apology

Blue is the mind unfurling

Blue are the curfews of church bells

Blue are the bricks of demolished homes

Blue are the invisible corridors of houses

Blue are the bruised walls

Blue are the flickered hours of dawn

Blue are the ghosts in a house

Blue are the houses left behind

Blue is their confession.

STUDZINSKA

Irregular palettes of colour – stung yellow, mustard brown, buried shades of – off white, umber lining scabrous to the soft fingers of a child who traces its exterior as he learns to walk in a kitchen. It is as if the brick moves through him or we through the brick. The house moves in registers of light, a family re writing their place. Far away – another house rehearses ghost time – neither here nor as yet, a presence spilled, as it interprets the seasons of snow spoken winters, spring shadowed with unsent letters, summers abated from fever. You bury yourself deeper in a bed. The bluster of blue. You bury yourself deeper in the house, listen to the tucking of wind, until the house is empty of you – brick covered by fresh cheap paint, stories cloaked in the notebook of clay and shale, in the irregular palettes of colour, stung yellow, mustard brown, buried shades of – off white.

STUDZINSKA (words) BULLOCK (art)