Proxy Among the Spiders

Review of Jean Fremon’s Now, Now, Louison, a “life imagined” of the artist and sculptor, Louise Bourgeois.
There once was a little girl named Louise. Sweet, endangered, watchful and tragic, this little girl, who in her permeable nomenclature was also referred to as Lousion, bore the embryonic shadow of the son and heir that her father desired. Louise and her mother, Louison and her father, a baleful diet of scissors and stones, a garden overgrown with weeds, Here is where the myth begins.
  1. Louise exiled herself to an unlit corner where she was raised by spiders.
  2. The moon was broken before Louise got there. She admired how unfit it was for human habitation. How elegantly cold.
  3. Louise painted. And sculpted. And remade herself according to the laws of symmetry.
  4. Louise fell off the earth into some kind of strange, polarized dream; she became the plaything to hands stronger and larger and surer than her own.
  5. Names were shed. Childhood skinned. There was no more Louise or Louison. Only “The Spider-Woman.”
Now, Now, Louison, by Jean Frémon, is reviewed at Riot Material magazineThrough textual portraiture and curvilinear interiority, the writer, Jean Frémon, elliptically renders “a life imagined” of the iconoclastic artist and sculptor, Louise Bourgeois, in his new book Now, Now, Louison.
Read the full review here.
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Innocent When You Dream

duras
Hidden,
in full view
of shadows well-fitted
to be worn out at day’s end,
the young girl
bared herself
to the woman
she would become,
years before
love lifted
then wrecked
her sworn passage
home.

 

(Image of Marguerite Duras, The Lover)
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Case in Point

doppelganger
Images
tell us the right kind
of nothing,
how one way
or another
you
as a witness
will prove unreliable
in a world governed
by parallels.

 

(Image from Lost Highway)
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And the Chairs Watched Silently

di chirico II
An awful rowing,
this sense of going nowhere,
with home the fool’s goal.

 

(Artwork by Giorgio di Chirico)
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Revere

dance gustav
How often
we miss
or overlook
the value
of this life’s
most radiant jewels?
A soul,
birthing its own
transit
through long winding
braids of symmetry,
and basking
through the reign of perish.

 

(Artwork by Gustav Klimt)
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By Turns

clown II
Those who fall
from the moon
bear the length
of their exile
with tender lyrical turns
of being,
a fool’s minuet,
chaste
as it is fleeting.

 

(Artwork by Georges Rouault)
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Ooooh, Ahhhh

Bourgeois
The umbilical cable
arrived
from heaven
to bait and hook
the grateful mortal
who sacrificed his head
(and the dead weight
of its trivial contents
masquerading as profound
or important)
to become a supple visual vowel
with no more ties to his life
sentence on earth,
nor any regard for gravity
as a force-fed deterrent
to the loftiest
of his venereal desires.

 

(Sculpture by Louise Bourgeois)
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Tourniquet

Bourgeois 2
She, modeled as callus
to grave palm,
wherein the strictest ledger
of coils
implies
the spoils of ecstasy
held in unwavering contempt
of gods false
or none.

 

(Sculpture by Louise Bourgeois)
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Thy Fearful Symmetry

spider 5
Mothering
its own vigil
and scripture,
a chorus
ordained to practice
the arc of symmetry.

 

(Sculpture by Louise Bourgeois)
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Catechism

spider 4
Cautionary
in her needlepoint grace,
the eyeless widow
kept perfectly still,
tracking the scent of air
to minster her survival
through prey.

 

(Sculpture by Louise Bourgeois)
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