the first thing,
a complex thing—that shame.
a lump of clay fashioned
into a face
the blonde hair, glazed—
the shine thick with awkwardness.
sick pink features, eyes
cut crookedly into slits.
I recall pastel blues.
I was five years old.
***
Later and often, I would try to steal this small grotesque slab from my mother, my cheeks flaring when she would refuse its destruction.
It was ugly.
She could not convince me otherwise.
I never wanted anyone else to see this melted excuse for “art”
At 7, at 10, at 15.
Now.
****
My mother still has this “first.”
I recently asked her why she keeps it.
She said:
“It was the first, it was endearing, it was special.”
djbrass received her degree from the Slade School of Fine Art in London. She is a UK-based artist and writer and facilitates art programming for a well-being initiative on the southeast coast of England, where she also served as an editor and contributor for xfxthemag (http://xfxthemag.com/).