New Paintings: work that speaks to the act of painting through programmed strokes, pneumatic drips, self-aware idioms, layered time, and tactile impersonations
Excerpt from the chapbook, Totally Artless (May 2015)
by Claire Becker
When you get here, let’s tuck my body away.
See, I’m in that space between us.
I always thought of asking my parents,
Why did you name me clear?
Through that space you’ll come to me.
You’ll bring it with you, Claire’s body.
By your touch defined.
By my sharp edges delineated.
Drunk off two bourbons
at the neighborhood dive I’m
the only woman.
The only woman here or anywhere,
the definition.
I am suspended.
It’s like the whole town with their sports clothing.
Yellow for the Warriors, etcetera.
Give us something to hang onto.
Clear up our eyes.
Give us something to hang up.
There when I wake up—
you, the emojis.
Today I’m reaching toward you, Carrot.
My job—I work with these carrots
but my hand can’t do like my mind.
I’m not grounded.
No, I’m floored. I’m scraping the dirt off.
Why is it a good thing
to be transparent? What I want—
it’s always over my head.
I want it All fall down.
Like Ashes, ashes
and I can roll in it,
rub my back over it,
breasts, chest in the air.
Featherboard Writing Series 