In a tiny nutty shell

Wet, icy water invigorates my starved legs with three minutes counting down.

The glassy surface shatters as legs and arms explode into rhythmic propellers and we chase down the yellow ball. It gasps for air just as I do.

We attack like Piranhas in the churning white water arena. Bodies slap together at eerie angles as we perform a tantric contortionist’s dance.

My head explodes and water sears through my nose and down my throat.  The chlorine burns as it claws into my lungs like the nails slicing my back.

Momentarily intertwined, we become one person fighting to breathe, to break away, to put the ball to bed in the safety of the net.

Rogue elbows and knees lash out and desire pulls us into an animalistic battle. In a burst of energy I rip myself free from the underworld’s disorienting grip.

I plow through the sea of unattached limbs, deaf to the crowd. No one can touch what is mine.

 I rise out of the water and drive the ball past a wall of arms. I score

I am very frustrated by my multimedia piece, but that has really only made me want to spend the time to destroy it and re-haul it and do it over. I want to cut images and work  on the relationship between the photos and the words. I need to re-record the voice and I want to try to really change the voice from the emotion the words convey. I also have some ideas to explore with negative space to test the power of simplicity over super complicated image sequences. I also want to play around with the speed of my photos, having some hold for much longer. There is so much to do with this!! 

Water polo: is eloquent violence; is un-lady like; is beautiful

I plow through the pool and my oxygen starved arms scream as the acid builds up. My eyes lock on the ball bobbing two feet away. It gasps for air just as I do. Like Piranhas, we attack in the churning white water arena. Limbs slap the water at eerie angles as we perform a tantric contortionist’s dance. My head explodes and water sears through my nose and down my throat. It claws its way into my lungs like the nails on my back. The crowd’s war cries invigorate the players. In a burst of energy I rip free from the underworld’s disorienting grip. The ball is mine.