Last of Wyeth-inspired blog posts

This one an exercise in cold-sweat:
__
nosebleed sheets, pink-smeared pillowcase.
I swallowed wasps in my sleep all night.
I got those
twitchy fingertips that crack at the quick
like Lavinia's twiggy snagged sinews
or Wyeth's Christina as a deaf amputee.
an IV needle won't fit
in burnt-hair tree branch veins
heavy with bruised harvest fruit fall
soaking incarnadine tar stains from larval groggs.
I tried
to unveil my hands, scrowl wreathing, mute
any of the "-cides", get taste of salty skel in
compassed, (im)paled mares, aft
or fore. Who knows?

I wake, bloody linen.
"Shit." Hemorrhaged again.

More on Wyeth's Creepy

I think the elements that I find disturbing about Christina's World hinge on the posture of the subject, and her impossible (or unnatural) thinness. She looks as if she's just woken up, her hair a-mess, her body twisted, and while her legs seem limp, there's an eerily desperate (sinister?) reach of that left arm. Like she's clawing to whoever passed her on the way (toward? away from? the buildings) and left those tracks. What seems to be so nightmarish is that distance to that familiar structure (presumably a farmhouse, but too grayed out to be welcoming), made immeasurable by the distorted perspective of the painting, and the bleach-white sky, like bone.

This moves me:

Courtesy of Google: His underwater sculptures, designed to create artificial reefs for marine life to colonise and inhabit, embrace the transformations wrought by ecological processes. The works engage with a vision of the possibilities of a sustainable future, portraying human intervention as positive and affirmative. Drawing on the tradition of figurative imagery, the aim of Jason de Caires Taylor’s work is to address a wide-ranging audience crucial for highlighting environmental issues beyond the confines of the art world. However, fundamental to understanding his work is that it embodies the hope and optimism of a regenerative, transformative Nature.

Snapshot

into what really creeps me out:

I LOVE Andrew Wyeth's "Christina's World" now. It frightens me in some very fundamental, skin-crawling way. When I first saw it as a poster tacked up on Ms. LaFont's 11th-grade British Literature classroom wall, I nearly shat my pants. Or at least, I had nightmares about it. More to come soon, for now, enjoy the creepiness.