I hand over my vulnerability to thee, I throw it to thy feet, a silent sacrifice. I put myself at the mercy of thee, I get ropebound and pincrucified, I pin myself like a butterfly into the collection of souls and bodies that lie prostrate before thee. I expose my unshielded belly, my naked heart, I spread my soul like butter upon thy morning toast — eat me, drink me, then wipe me off from thy lips like a greasy, slovenly, shameful trace of a physical need just satisfied.

We are living in an epoch of total discommunication and insincerity. Our mouths are stuffed with cotton wool of social patterns, we are covered with an armour of fear and indifference. Our passiveness knows no bounds, our rare deeds are ridiculous and impulsive.

We are searching for each other, trying to break through our own tonguetie, shame, body inhibitions, scarceness of feelings, fear of unreciprocity, we’re like children with their eyes tied, groping in the dark. Conditions change like traffic lights, passion, pain, despair, fright, red, yellow, go ahead, red. Deep inside we scream with horror and loneliness, yet what can be heard is no more than buzzing. In our condition, love is always a comingout, the loving ones are doomed to exist with their stomach ripped open, their heart extracted and held forth to the other person.”

Materials used: photos shot in 2012, ropes, pins, velvet, sawdust, blood.
Lia Dostlieva

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