12th September 2010
To use the garden shed was a first at 25sg. How difficult it was to lie underneath a ton of yellow peppers with my body pinned down. But I dreamed of my death and felt comforted when, one by one, people came in to view the corpse.
Carole Luby’s Peppers Performance
And here I shall impart my experience of Carole Luby’s Peppers performance; as for me there is no other.
I walked down her garden path, treading gently on softness underfoot with my hard urban shoes. Ducking bows and entering dimmer roams, I found myself afront a shed. Green paint peeling door, a breath ajar. I know to go in, but I invite myself with a knock. In I step, into a gloaming yellow embrace. A breathing mound of mulch; yellow shining, brown wrinkled wheezing fruit.
My senses and conditions recoil at putrid flies. My feet transfixed in the shirt I bear. Close with death in life. I embrace an inhalation as there’s no other than the air that surrounds. I hear her breath dribble in the corpse of peppers. I breathe with her and the air is sweet with bright sun. A captured cycle, released in the decay of the flesh of the peppers. Sweet days and smells past in vivid memory experience in my lungs. I breathe louder, I let her know that I’m there. I’m a partaker of this smell of sweet life and its encompassing shed. We breathe each other’s air, rising and falling like the tides of life. Soft, shiny, rotten in parts, yet always embracing.
I draw our shared experience closer. I lay my intimate hand on her belly of peppers. With weight, a flinch. We rise and fall together, in smells of unity; our mother’s wet flesh between ours. We ease into each other’s rhythm. A breath sweeter than each our own. And moments pass, in weight shared, bodies moved, life exhaled. And with a close, complete to both, a pepper falls and I depart.
25 Stratford Grove
12 September 2010