Femina Potents Gallery presents art work by Diane Diprima and Kate Braverman
Reception: October 20th.7-10pm,
465 So. Van Ness (between 15-16th Streets) .
EVIDENCE THAT EVOLUTION IS A FAILED EXPERIMENT.
The most complex of the series, in which I attempted a millennial reconstruction of the collective ancient. The pencil text reads: (Wall one) The stucco walls of the barrios of Los Angeles do not look like this. They do not speak of Gods and harbors. The boulevards are named for butchers and saints----Alvarado, Santa Ana, San Pedro, Santa Monica. Knife killers are long remembered, their blood miracles. Slaughter is a gift some are born for. (Wall two) Women have the names of film stars and flowers--- Sophia. Liz.
Iris. Violet. Camille. Dahlia. Rose. They smoke cigarettes on terraces, mourning what might have been and wait for nightfall with a pint of sloe gin. The phone doesn’t ring. They are drunk again. (Wall three) Full moon in Los Angeles. The bitch struts naked
And yellow above avenues of random jasmine, idiot smog blue night you may not survive. Women stand at windows, paralyzed. They reach for a shawl, feel a strange chill, while the moons rises and drifts like a lost ship, white as a flag of surrender above the decadent palms. Sky a tarnished burgundy. Sunsets in a debauchery of magenta, as if fuchsias had everywhere risen. Red salsas slide to streets wind choreographs, leaves a chorus of flamenco dancers. In between, the degrees from universities, psychiatrists, yoga, French, opera, how to sail. (Wall four) The moments are mute associations punctuated by our slow comings and goings, our reasons and unpackings beside shrill lamps. I took entirely different vows, balanced winter pears in my palms, held them to the light like syringes of morphine. I was purified by intensity. History is personal; scrawl hieroglyphics on your arms, (Alley all down) equations and tributaries that matter. All rivers know you, and recite your bouquet of names.
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