Stylish after a fashion with black lips to veil a pink heart, she blends in with the craziness around her. In a fervour, go after her boys, drenched in sweat, or she will consume you completely.
Retreating, blacked and blue, an echo of what she used to be. Lipstick smeared, her breasts recoil into the background, caught up in a net of anxiety, not able to break free.
“I am truly yours, if only you would set me free.”
Behind that veneer of despair, masquerading her secret, she is quietly blazing beauteous fury. Disapprove of her, drenched in sweat, if you dare.
This was a piece I wrote for several paintings of women by North East artist Stephen Irving as seen on this page: