I want to thank Mir for taking the time to write an intimate review of my book of drawings. Miriam is an early founder of New-Buffalo and is a current candidate for her M.A. at the New School*.
On Aplomb by Sarah Banach
D.H. Lawrence’s heavy, wet prose is intimate with its topic to the extent that it eludes Memory. She hides from Him. Topic unfolds in the feminine time of reading. Time is pregnant and reflection slips away into lacy daydreams–
‘She had to dance in exultation beyond him. Because he was in the house, she had to dance before her Creator in exemption from the man. On a Saturday afternoon, when she had a fire in her bedroom, again she took off her things and danced, lifting her knees and her hands in a slow, rhythmic exulting. He was in the house, so her pride was fiercer. She would dance his nullification, she would dance to her unseen Lords. She was exalted over him, before the Lord.
He watched, and his soul burned in him. He turned aside, he could not look, it hurt his eyes. Her fine limbs lifted and lifted, her hair was sticking out all fierce, and her belly, big, strange, terrifying, uplifted to the Lord. Her face was rapt and beautiful, she danced exulting before the Lord, and knew no man.’
We were ALL once swathed in a warmth that is now the mere faint breath on our cheek of the imminent and final return that we can only imagine in dreams. The mother is to ALL of us tears in large eyes, mountains of flesh, hair, forefinger and thumb, the grazing touch that somehow also holds.
*I’m not actually sure where Mir goes to school, I just know they’re a bunch of snappy dressers where ever she is…
