I see children with their eyes scratched out.
I see angel’s wings and shrunken heads and BDSM.
Discarded yarn and woolen viscera. Please do not touch.
I see a flock of dead sparrows, arranged in lines
and embalmed in crocheted doll’s clothing.
I see Caribbean sunsets, chimeras, and stigmata.
I see roadkill in a baby’s nursery.
I see a Disney Store abattoir shop-window.
Fermentation. Emancipation. Genocide. Chiromancy.
Little Annie Messager is a Trickster. A Phoney. An Art Brut.
A Collector of oblique artifacts. A curator of curious Peep-shows.
I see me some sugar. I see me some spice.
I see me an unshaven Mound of Venus
and this cold hard rain against the windows.
Annette Messager: The Messengers Exhibition
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