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LIVING ART

A space for Madame Fern's latest ARTISTIC PROJECTS and CREATIVE COLLABORATIONS. The first of our LIVING ART collection is a series of six photos, poems, and a short film each to be released daily through the second week of December. 

​

Creative Direction: Fern 

Photography: Stef Murza

Set Design: Andrea Herrada

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#1: утро | Morning

 

Shadows of you remain 

in these sheets

enveloping 

me in the memories of

each moment, 

each breath

emanating 

from our transient affair.

My being yearns for you,

for your kiss to wake me from my slumber,

your touch to raise my restless body,

your smile to lighten my spirit;

for if I wake up to nothing,

and instead face the emptiness,

it will be better I hadn’t woken at all.

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#2 : следующей ночью | The Following Night

 

Without you here,

    your heat radiating in my arms,

    my face buried in your sweet tobacco hair,

    my lips tingling from your red wine stained lips,

    your body twitching as it falls into a dream,

My mind goes too far

envisioning 

where you have been

where you are

and where you will go.

Your solo journey:

No one is permanent.

I cling to my pillow,

left with your imprint,

in hopes the

semblance of you remains.

One faint note of your scent,

enables me

       to drift

         into

    my

            nightly

     trance.

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 #3 ты наконец пришел | You Finally Came

​

Where 

have you been?

“Lost in thought,”

you say,

clearly not lingering on the thoughts about me.

You must not be listening,

for if you were,

the guilt 

would consume.

Piercing past the surface,

my eyes see

Avoidance; your ultimate tactic.

The frustrating voice mailbox your family is met with at each call,

The cocaine that lines your nose as your self-prescribed Adderall.

The unfinished canvas

of your last bloody tissue that foreshadows my fears.

​

——-

​

You’ve added me to your list.

I’m no longer an escape,

but instead,

something of significance to fear,

as allowing me closer

would force a reflection on your decision

to pursue this life,

neglecting others in the process of

hurting yourself.

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#4: в чистилище | In Limbo

 

He is there.

In the absence of you. 

His thoughts result in action.

Though you’re the one with my heart,

his mystery exudes and 

pulls me closer

as you choose 

not to stand in the way.

You know of my love,

and I know of yours,

but your conscious denial of me, 

leaves an empty spot

of chilled sheets,

seeking your warmth 

by starving 

for the heat of anyone 

that will fill it.

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 #5 бруклин детка | Brooklyn Babe

 

God, it was too much,

Standing in the room

with you,

Wishing to hold you and greet you with

a huge hug and dramatic kiss.

Instead,

I restrained.

Barely uttered a word.

For you abandoned me again.

 

 

Silence.

 

 

Words exchanged with others

but not with you.

Your existence is negligible in this room.

 

 

But when I depart

we hug,

and as I cling to your oversized leather coat

I linger.

Longer than I want.

Only for you to 

graze my cheek

before I break free and collapse

from the self-inflicted torture

of ignoring you

and denying every piece of my existence, 

my desires;

keeping the access to my heart

restricted.

Through the florescent-lit tunnel of doors,

I escape

still whole,

one step

at

a

time;

My feet board the L Train

and my body returns

to Manhattan

alone.

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#6 следующий день | The Next Day

 

Inch by inch

I retrace the paths

your fingertips took, 

gently grazing up my arm,

along my neck,

to the bone-filled structure 

of my cheeks.

The memory of you

is projected on my body

and I’m forced

to face you.

To face the joy of your smile

the complexity of your inked skin,

the deeply set eyes that penetrate my soul.

 

He is not the same as you.

Though, thoughts of him run through my mind,

as I lay here in the light

of your memory.

I don’t know if he’ll make me feel what you did.

 

Your ghost nearly brings tears to my eyes,

but they’ve already been shed.

 

 

Wrapped in these sheets with your shadow,

the bed is still void of warmth,

but in this moment you feel closer to me than you have in weeks.

 

I caress the curvature where my hip and waist meet,

embracing the silence and the heat of my own being,

contemplating what I’d sacrifice

to have you

wrapped in my body again.

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