#large work

WIP, 2021

A water colour piece I did in highschool. Still one of my favourite pieces. 

"Active Boundaries (July 11) (2012)" from Palimpsest Series, Ink And Acrylic On Yupo, 16h x 16w in (40.64h x 40.64w cm), 2014

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Uzziel opened her eyes and looked upon Andromeda bright in the sky above her. She took a slow, deep breath in. No pain rang out to greet her. She could feel the ground through her thin dress, damp with evening dew. Tops of trees reached into her peripherals. Another clearing. She wondered how long she had been out for, how far from the Caosgo Haraji passage this one was? She turned her head from the sky and to her right saw Abaddon. He sat on the grass not far from her, great shoulders slumped forward, his hands playing over the blades as if controlling their movement in the breeze. With one of his clawed hands he suddenly pulled some of the ground up and brought it close to his face. She saw his chest widen as he inhaled deeply. Perseus, indeed. Uzziel pushed herself into a sitting position and pulled her shoulder blades together while stretching out her wings. She raised her arms up, her biceps pressed against her ears, her hands clasped above her head. She rolled her neck. Everything appeared to be back to normal. She stood and began to make her way over to where Abaddon still sat on the grass cradling the handful of earth. A sudden noise of a tree branch snapping off to their right caused him to drop the bundle, jumping up with a speed surprising for one of his size, his wings unfurling to match the ready stance of Uzziel’s. From between the trunks of the birch trees a figure materialized, first the body of a white horse, then the dark rider atop it. “Death.” Uzziel nodded. “Persephone.” Abbadon whispered as his wings came back to rest against his back and his hands released their talon like posture. “You’re okay...” Death swung down off her horse and started at a jog toward him before realizing Uzziel’s presence. She slowed to a walk, but Uzziel could see the strain it took her. A smile broke free, “…both of you.” It was genuine. Uzziel nodded as Death closed the distance between them, her horse following not far behind. Her hood had fallen in her drop off the horse. Her hair hung down in loose auburn curls. Her skin reflected the moonlight accentuating the sudden flush to her cheeks. “Have you been to the Sheol?” Abaddon’s voice rolled out, pebbles falling across silk. Death’s step slowed only a second, but Abaddon’s head lowered. Her face had lost its flush. “Hades is there now. He is assessing the damage done and convening with the others of the Elos De Teloah.” Death walked closer to Abaddon, her eyes only shifting over to Uzziel once before reaching out and placing a hand on his chest. “We will rebuild it.” Abaddon’s hand twitched as he made to bring it up to grasp Death’s, but instead he curled it into a fist. “Where do we start?” “You can start by telling me all that you remember about the release.” Uzziel drew herself up and stared into Abaddon’s black eyes as Death removed her hand, bringing it across her chest to rest along the muzzle of her horse who nuzzled closer. Abaddon turned to face Uzziel head on, straightening to his full height. His face could have been etched from rhodolite, his voice now a boulder dragged across the earth. “The cage started to swell. I could hear it is as it strained against the pressure. Then the cracks began. Small at first. Hairline. But they grew in number, and then in size. As you know there was no instruction to stop this. It was always to happen. One thousand years and then he was to be released.” Uzziel noticed a crack in the rhodolite. Hairline, she thought. “I just never thought it would be so….violent.” “Did you notice his shape? What form has he taken?” Uzziel pushed. “I…the cage had burst apart. I was suddenly trapped beneath what had kept me safe for all those years. I saw a dark mass shoot upward out of the abyss. I heard the cries of many. Thousands.” The rhodolite shimmered as tears slowly made their way out of the dark spots near its apex, but it did not break. It wasn’t for the bodies that he wept Uzziel knew, but for their souls. A death such as that leaves you with no second chances. It is final. Not like the death’s he would deal that sent them back for a new beginning. “Did you see or hear anything else, Abaddon. I know I don’t need to remind you of the importance of this.” Abaddon didn’t move to wipe away the tears, nor did he look away from Uzziel, “I could hear him laughing as he did it, and I remember two black eyes flecked with green.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Aislinn looked into his eyes as he began, the green intensified by the yellow of the near by flames. “This isn’t an easy story to tell as it has been told many times before and in many ways, but it appears that only one way has won out amongst the masses and I am sorry to say that it is the wrong one.” He paused and frowned at her. “Lie down. You’re getting pale and I can see you shaking from underneath the blanket.” He reached to his left and grabbed a log, placing it on the fire. Aislinn waited for him to turn back to her, holding his gaze defiantly. He smiled and made to move towards her. She flinched, immediately chiding herself. “If you’re going to be so stubborn at least let me put something down so you can sit up without straining yourself. You need to be conscious to hear the story and I don’t see that as a possibility if you are trying to hold yourself up while your body is trying to pull you down. It’s a lose/lose for both of us.” He once more moved towards her, not stretching to his full height, but hunched, shuffling across the dirt. When he’d come almost parallel with her body he squatted once more and reached back behind her, pulling another blanket out from what must have been a pack. She didn’t want to take her eyes off of the way his body seemed to flow so easily from space to space. She could feel a heat rise into her cheeks and she forced herself to focus on the way he was now folding the blanket into a square before folding it over once more to make a thick pillow like rectangle. That finished, he turned to her and placed the blanket into the hollow behind her back and neck. “Lie down.” Aislinn lowered her shoulders and then her head as he leaned closer to shift the makeshift pillow beneath. She inhaled. Pine needles and weighted rain. Had she noticed that before? He pushed back onto his heels, finally standing to his full height to look down at her before walking back to his spot near the end of her feet. He spoke as if no break in his speech had occurred. “She was a foreigner. That was the first thing wrong with her. They probably would have done it all on just that, but there was more. So much more.” Aislinn watched as he looked off into the fire, his gaze finding purchase on nothing she would ever see. “She was sold off to a King. Marriage. It was the custom back then. Sold to a Christian city and a Christian king, but she herself was not so. Although it would have been in her best interest to convert…she didn’t. It was a dry barren land she had been transported to. Not at all like the lush, vibrant country she had come from. She soon associated this dryness, this heat with their inability to please their God. She held true to her beliefs, to what she had been brought up to respect and know to be true and even attempted to teach them her ways in a desperate struggle to bring life back to their arid land. She amassed quite a few followers, but the Deuteronomist did not approve of this. Despite many attempts to change her mind and prove her wrong, even the death of many of her fellow prophets, she held strong.” His eyes came back into focus and he turned to look over at her, “not unlike what you have been striving to do for so long now.” Aislinn pushed herself down against the blanket folded underneath her head. How much did he know? He turned back to the fire which seemed to rise with his voice. “Her ways were seen as blasphemous. Long held traditions in her land were misconstrued as threats. War paint as a means of feminine deception. The length of her hair as a seductive ploy rather than a show of power. They labeled her a harlot and a sorcerer although she was true to her husband until the day he died. They had her children assassinated then, no offspring of the mother of sin could exist in their sacred land, and without the protection of her husband…She was really still but a child herself.” He sighed, “They killed her too in the end, of course.” In answer to her furrowed brow he went on, “threw her out the window. It was a mess. In the end only her skull, feet, and hands were left to be buried. Not as a queen, but only as the daughter of a foreign despot.” Aislinn watched as his hands balled into fists at his sides. The fire cracked and popped, she felt sweat forming behind her knees, between her breasts. “They left her to always be remembered as a heathen. A warning to those that take up the act of ‘idol worship’ and the ‘pleasures of the body’. How little you creatures know. She was strong, and stood up for what she believed in. She was more comfortable in her skin than most men and that frightened them. These moralistic men of Samaria.” Aislinn’s head snapped back up and the world spun as she spat out, “Samaria! Israel’s Samaria?” “The one and the same. They thought they had rid themselves of her then, but they were wrong. You know the story then. She came back to avenge her family, her life, but she took it too far…became exactly what they had originally accused her of…” He paused, his eyes lingered on the fire for a moment more, “I figured you would know this story as you yourself have been accused of falling under her spell have you not?” The world came to an abrupt stop as her eyes widened and her heart pumped harder beneath her ribcage. “Your leaders in Algahern didn’t believe you did they? No one had heard the whispers in a thousand years, why would they start now? Why would they start and appear to a member of the El Alca so young?” Aislinn thought back to the night the leaders had appeared at her door. It hadn’t even been 24 hours since the child had been buried. They had so many questions, she had been young still, but old enough to know she was in trouble. They caught her up in a net of their questions and then hung her out to dry. They took her mother and slit her throat open in front of her. They thought it had all been orchestrated by her, they thought it would scare her into admitting it had all been a blasphemous lie. They took her long hair and cut it off. Told her she could not practice there any longer. She had to leave and never return. She had run off into the night and eventually, after days of fitful sleeps and near starvation she came to Laologreth, a town that did minor trading with Algahern, but kept mostly to itself. She was taken in by the women of the El Alca there. For a small town they had three women born of the gift and so when she refused at first to go to any births they understood, but eventually they explained that for her to continue on with them, she must do some of the births herself. She was terrified as she held the first newborn against her chest since the death of the last. She brought the little mouth up to her ear and listened. Nothing but warm breath greeted her. She exhaled in relief. Over the next few years she grew up and continued to learn from the women of Laologreth. She formed a close bond with them and soon saw them as sisters rather than guardians. She never once heard anymore with the whispers. It was when she was coming home late one night after a birth that she heard muffled screams coming from behind the woodshed. She walked over, thinking that an animal had perhaps got itself caught under a piece of wood that had shifted. As she rounded the corner of the woodshed she saw that it instead was her sister Astrea. She was not much older than Aislinn, but was quieter, kept to herself, and was fearful of the world outside of Laologreth, which had included even Aislinn for quite some time. Astrea’s hair was fanned out in the dirt, twigs and tree bark appeared woven through it. Her hands were pinned above her head by a  much larger hand, also dark with dirt, tears were running down the sides of her face. Astre’s cries were being muffled by another of those dirt caked hands shoved against her mouth. Blood ran down the wrist from the depth of Astrea’s teeth against the skin and still it did not stop. Astrea’s eyes suddenly focused on Aislinn. She blinked the tears away as best she could and did her best to shift her gaze back above her towards the house then back to Aislinn, then back to the house. Aislinn froze for only a second before turning and running inside. The common area was empty, both Jala and Gabriella had already gone to bed for the night. She looked around and her eyes finally settled on the poker next to the fireplace. Grabbing it she rushed back outside and tore around the corner of the woodshed. Astrea lay on the ground, face pressed against the dirt, sobbing, her dress torn, stained with blood and muck. Aislinn lowered the poker and lay on the ground next to Astrea. Her sobs joined with Astrea as she felt her body curl up and press against hers. It was two weeks later that Aislinn was called to a house two blocks away. She had the child in her arms when the husband came rushing through the door to his wife. He pulled her into an embrace and then quickly pulled away looking over at Aislinn, his hands leaving dark imprints on his wife’s white cotton dress. A crescent shaped wound wrapped itself around the flesh of his right hand below his last finger. “How is he?” Aislinn thought about this man on top of Astrea, of his grimy hand inside of her mouth, his…..his disgusting length inside of her body…his blood pumping through this child’s veins… “I am so sorry…” Aislinn returned to the house she shared with her sisters and quietly packed her things. She had been down this road before and did not want to see any more bloodshed of those she cared about in her name. She thought about leaving a note for them explaining that she needed to move on and that she would never forget them, but it would be best if they knew nothing about the reason for her leaving. Best if they could place all the blame on her. That was all. Aislinn closed the door to the house that had been her home for eleven years and walked off into the night. “What did they say about you Aislinn?” His voice brought her back. She felt tears, collecting on her chin. “What did they call you?” “The spirit of Jezebel.” “Did somebody call?” A woman sauntered slowly out of the darkness wearing a simple dress of cream coloured cloth. Her skin shimmered in the firelight. Her hair fell down around her body stopping just above her knees. Obsidian flowing along mahogany. Her eyes rested on Aislinn. They were outlined with black kohl.