Amanda Morris: Andromeda
Morris considers the space between an accident and a myth @ Liturgical Credo.
The radio is above my head; the window at my side.
Inside the flipped car, I wait. Searching for buttons of the CD player, wanting to press stop on the funkadelic jazz. The guitar whines a wocka wocka beat. It cries for me. The soundtrack of a wreck and disaster.
Blood creeps from the car. It is neon orange and frothy, crawls past my view. It oozes with time’s slow beat.
Faces peer through the curved lens and view me as a delicate specimen. I mouth words, lips flapping without sound to expel. Their fragmented faces and asking eyes appear ghoulish and sloppy. Skin warped by the taunting effect of smashed glass.
Are you alive?
Image: Jerzy Lewczynski at Lens Culture
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