Created and Sold by VISCERAL HOME
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it wasnt her curse to break - Paintings
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Price $2,000
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Estimated Arrival: January 15, 2025
Professionally packaged shipped, and insured.
Handmade
Reclaimed Materials
Made In USA
Made To Order
Natural Materials
Locally Sourced
| Dimensions | Weight |
|---|---|
32H x 32W x 3D in 81.28H x 81.28W x 7.62D cm | 2.72 kg 6 lb |
linen canvas detailed using ground rock pigment + red ochre pigment + iron oxide clay (we foraged in CA), installed and framed in oak in which we used the Shou Sugi Ban technique to char. (this piece can be hung as a square or a diamond; please specify if you would like both or one type of hanging gear upon checkout) 32 x 32 x 3
it wasnt her curse to break;
she was everything and nothing at all. all at once she witnessed the fall. she had to find a way to balance knowing she was a token of 77 years of a bloodline of men that led to her. they thought she would be the first, but she ended up being that and the last.
she was the last to continue life holding onto silence to keep moving. the ones who were supposed to protect her spent their days without acknowledging the curse that was flooded within her veins.
her addiction; as if she knew her blood was poison and the needle pursing into her skin was going to counteract the already tainted blood rushing to her head.
the curse that used her for pleasure.
the pain inflicted on her bloodline was not the fault of their own— the walls of the gas chambers that heard her ancestor’s last spoken words, it should have been the last time they allowed pain to pass on from generation to generation. Yet they passed down those last words their family took as if we forced them to be spoken.
They spoke the words proudly, every Passover: dayenu. dayenu. it would have been enough. dayenu. it would have sufficed.
- Taylor Robinson 2024
it wasnt her curse to break;
she was everything and nothing at all. all at once she witnessed the fall. she had to find a way to balance knowing she was a token of 77 years of a bloodline of men that led to her. they thought she would be the first, but she ended up being that and the last.
she was the last to continue life holding onto silence to keep moving. the ones who were supposed to protect her spent their days without acknowledging the curse that was flooded within her veins.
her addiction; as if she knew her blood was poison and the needle pursing into her skin was going to counteract the already tainted blood rushing to her head.
the curse that used her for pleasure.
the pain inflicted on her bloodline was not the fault of their own— the walls of the gas chambers that heard her ancestor’s last spoken words, it should have been the last time they allowed pain to pass on from generation to generation. Yet they passed down those last words their family took as if we forced them to be spoken.
They spoke the words proudly, every Passover: dayenu. dayenu. it would have been enough. dayenu. it would have sufficed.
- Taylor Robinson 2024
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