Battlefield of words

The knife glides inside, barely separating skin.
So slight, at first, the pain hardly registers.

But then blood begins to spill.

One drop. Then another. And another.

A tiny pool forming.

There is little point calling out.
Crying for clemency, mercy perhaps,

a little sympathy might ease the anguish.
Hah! It isn't as though anyone will notice,
what with their hands stuck inside jugs.

Words are but weapons, to wield in battle.
A shield down, they cut deeply.

Slicing open, with no regard
to the wound left behind.
The victor delighting in the rewards.

A writer amongst historians

Candles flickering as it snows outside. Erasmus stares down from above, a Bosch painting hangs on the wall. I take my seat in an exquisite 16th century chamber and wonder if I haven't travelled back in time....

There is perhaps no better setting for a lecture on Pieter Bruegel the Elder than Erasmus House. Build between 1450 and 1515, Erasmus stayed here in 1521 when it was the home of his friend Pieter Wychman. Alongside various Erasmus artefacts and antiquarian books, the museum also houses paintings by Holbein, Bosch and Matsys. 

Adoration of the Magi, Bosch ca. 1510, Erasmus House

It is an overcast January afternoon, and I have just arrived in Brussels for a two day lecture and masterclass entitled Bruegel: Ground for speculation, traps to see. After spending much of the past few years working on a novel with Bruegel at its heart, you could say I had been more than a little looking forward to these two speakers.

It was to be an enjoyable as well as educational experience, leaving me with much to mull over. Being the only creative writer presenting at the master class alongside primarily art historians, was fascinating. While they were intrigued by what I had set about creating, I was equally drawn into the world they were revealing. 

Reindert Falkenburg's talk on Bruegel and speculation was encouraging for a writer of fiction. He spoke of speculative modes of interpretation; that perhaps Bruegel was encouraging us to contemplate rather than presenting the viewer with specific messages. Via numerous Bruegel paintings, ideas were explored and pondered: the visibility of evil and the divine, the blind pilgrims that cannot see with their inner eye, the true nature of human behaviour, and perhaps that the world is the corrupted book of nature.

Michel Weemans drew us into the painting, Triumph of Death, to reveal a world of traps amongst the skeletons, violence, chaos and madness. Such as with Dulle Griet, the living and the dead fill the canvas creating for the viewer a visual paradox - traps and crosses, some visible others not. Others mind traps. All most provoking as well as disconcerting. Images representing greed, pride and sin. Death as a parody on the living. Physical blindness yet an inner vision? Is Bruegel encouraging use to question what we do not see?

The masterclass? That's for my next blog post.

'Mouse Trap' From Triumph of Death, Pieter Bruegel the Elder

Don't follow me

Motorbike glistening like a newborn
dropped suddenly, on the verge.
Meanwhile, the music played on.
When you told me, I didn't get it. Not really.

Maybe, I should have said more.
Felt something. The disbelief, horror.
I recall it now. Raw sadness, shock.
As you walked towards me.

I didn't get it. In truth, I didn't get you.
Although I'm not altogether
convinced I should have. Just like the bike
I too slipped between your fingers.

Learning to swim in strange waters,
feet floundering. Confused.
I flatly refused to care. Skin, warm to touch.
Long ago so perfect, just like the bike.

To hold at a distance. Was it an act of love?
Perhaps. Or not, who's to know.

© the dishonest woman

Hush

Frozen hands. A rush. 

An icy path, leading on.

Deceiving. A hush.

© the dishonest woman