Naarm Melbourne / Artist & Writer
Josephine Mead is a visual artist and writer. She works through photography, sculpture, installation, sound and text to explore personal notions of support.
I am encased and fluid and compartmentalized and still — seeking curves and finding corners.
I am drawn back to the plants of childhood. My mind attempting to settle into home. I can still feel the mounds of your skin on my fingertips. Your body floats in distant memory.
The flickering behind my eyelids.
What if there were no images? The clouds are falling from the sky. The light and the darkness swiftly collide. The explosion has no colour — only sound. What if there were no images? No visuals to rub up against. Just space and time, no marker, no mind. What if there were no images? Is the light I see outside my window coming from the sun? My senses overshadowed by the rapid punctuations of my mind. Do I see through illusion? What if there were no images? I listen to the sound as object. I listen to the sound as energy. The noise overtakes me. What if there were no images? I recall all the times my eyes drew the outline of your face. I need to hold you in space, in perpetuity, not just in image, but physically. In the coming months, what will we need to immortalise?
To be fragmented, to be whirling, to come undone.
To be overtaken by the bloom.
To see lives slipping. To see the arts slipping. To be torn apart.
I am reeling and sinking and falling and being held simultaneously. I am both moving too fast and I am not moving at all. Time has fallen. I was holding your hand, but you were not close enough to feel me. There are lights of bright crystal disappearing into the distance and things are going into blackness. The world is moving rapidly and I am still. I am in a waking dream and there is no sleep as respite. I remember nothing from the night, yet my body carries the tension. I am searching for beauty in hopes that it will save you. My heart is bound to yours forevermore. You are my all. I search the screen for growing orbs and hope they will not meet your shining centre — a dream, for you all.