Sometimes I wish my art spoke to me- just a few words, preferably with some verbs to let me in.
I create a piece and it stands- silent, asking for nothing in return.
I want to know meaning- and to be honest- purpose.
If I keep the piece, I want it to have a message, easily decoded.
I saw this as the masculine dipping down into the feminine.
A friend saw it as a mouth opened to scream in frustration.
I, too, had seen the uvula and wondered where it is written, when it has yet to be spoken, even in the quiet of the mind.