These ideas keep me here, rooted, transfixed to a spot, dissolving in absinthe, a sugar cube. The angels are chanting now, and I feel them encroach on my soft tawny rump. I am flesh and bone but now I feel as if only marrow remains. Now they are on me. I am flying – funnily almost one of them – as I am absolved by holy punches. Crunch and bruise that is my ability – I am fulfilled! I have transcended now, no longer transfixed, doomed to wait for ‘them’ to absolve me. I have in an instant returned.
Words: Melina Wilde, Fine Art, @melina.wilde
Photography: Hannah Game, Storehouse Content Team, @hjgamephotography