Adonta Ta Mele

Running cracks of lead flaked paint, spiders across the front door like a grandfather's forehead. Its hinges squeal from years of inattention and forgotten maintenance Floor boards moan a song of dismemberment and forgotten age While musty gloom thickens the air – inhibiting, restricting, compressing breaths Entrance ways lead to hallways which culminate and connect enclosed spaces, hovering in an atmosphere of haunt and mourn Conversations linger, echoing within walls of dine and feast settings arranged from ritual – two plates, two bowls, two cups, two knives, two spoons, two forks, two napkins, two chairs, with only voice and ephemeral trace. Twisted unleveled stairs, escalate to second stories letters to love and hate cover ancient mourning boards. Segmented space divides the infant from maturation. Cracked spine, chipped rails, exposing the wooden crib core Superficial angst and rage characterizing the infant's facade, yet delicate love exposed in clean white linens pressed and laid in perfection sets the bedding stage for stuffed bears and embroidered blankies Toppled bookcase defecates bound knowledge across adult wooden bed frame disheveling sheets, rugs, and right angles, its half fallen posture exposes entrance way to hidden passages. Between walls, moving slow as not to catch thread to exposed nail, pipe, or wire shoulders grazing support beams, pace entranced by flattening florescence bulbed ceilings Each step enclosing space tighter and tighter Climax turns to anticlimax as exit opens to a hermetic cell of textural paint echoing skin blotched and boiled. Surrounding walls of tattered gold, ulcer red and puss filled purple, each based with blotched skin.?Encircles full length mirror exposing views of deceased discomfort – Black glass glows within frame of ornate wood spiking and curling with baroque transcendence Reflecting back a ghost of future deceased persona.