MAARTJE SANDERS

The first sharp breath on unsteady legs,
swift and full of angst.
The drops of birth steaming of my hide
into the cold dark air.

If I can remember the dire pulsing of my nose as it digs into your swollen body,
the flow of warm white fat.
If I can imagine the fog rising from your skin, the sound of your steady molars grinding again and again on the fresh paste.
If I can imagine the falling of your lungs, the blinking of your lashes and the sinking of your feet in the mud.
then I must have been a calf born to a cow mother.

Thoughts Are Bells

2026 · Installation including a sculpture (250 × 100 cm), floor coverings (clay, sand, organic material, carpet and beeswax) and text.

Photo: Simon Pillaud

Photo: Rick Lauwen