+ View Statement
A collaboration of 40 drawings & poems, by Adrian Kien & Kelly Packer 2007 - 2008. Our process for this project was that I would complete a drawing and Adrian would use that as his point of departure for his poem. Together they form small prayer cards to the various saints of our choosing. Through these prayers we found access to certain strange areas between language and oil pastel rubbed over the finger. And like the meditative act of prayer - these pieces represent our communion with art and each other. The bones that make up our hands as we create will eventually decay into a powder and we will know no authority.
- SX
- Were there letters missing from your name in the MS? SX, I tell you, there was a thought hole. I heard the night breathing in the strobe of anti-aircraft lights and the silence of sleeping houses. There was a crow in your lip on Sunday. The claws hooked us together with mute wires of delivery. SX, decapitate us. Produce from us15 SX's! Faster the crass birds. The wings. These corpse packages.
- 6x4"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Brigid
- I drank milk from your skin with eyes open in open prayer to your marbled ribs the tips of your ears where tongues tasted out perimeters of what was to know the prayer of every flank blessed thing the circumference of a bell
- 4x6"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Giclee prints available in my Etsy store
- Steve
- I got a headache so carcass me there is a couch in the cave where the skulls are staved aspirin rattles where no brains pray hawks' prey rasp of pig trotters on pans and horse leather Steve please off me borrow my wheelbarrow with me in it cover me with gravel and rubble my eyelids that blue grass might grow from my peat heat and soiled soil
- 4x6"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Instead of pennies for your eyes I have hamburger
- in Paris we could see the stars from the courtyard in that circumference of darkness we made you a constellation who said who up there who up there now born in a white dwarf spin around please, who said, spin around in the sky we said it was a mouse we made we said it was a mouse we made big as a cow for you for you a cow how now how about that!
- 4x6"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Sold
- Joe
- There were eggs glued in mucous to the underside of gold leaves. You read us and we grew to a bursting in a land of plenty. Our yolks yoked to you. Our sweat crusted lips. Our thirst to please you. A hunger to please you. A knife for America to be us in a golden beehive. Behave the surgeon's hand - the light of the blade to cut us, the salted angels, from a burning tree. Believe escape is the wind and a twig dipped in your eye.
- 4x6"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Saint Goosipher
- Fly to land amongst our buildings. Give us the cacophony in your mayo beard. It's lunch and Jesus, an algae sandwich again. Enough, yankee doodle dandy. Your green guano beneath our fingernails, let us be your tundra. Your eggs in our chest. We can cheat meat and be a wilderness together. Vamose us and cover forever the tunics with your blizzard mutter.
- 4x6"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Sold
- Hippolytus
- Q. Which one are you? Q. the p in the lame? Q. the m in the apple? Q. the finger curling over the stem? Q. you in your skin or you without? A. let me snort at your holes whistle a nostril two stream song that we might there mingle like purple. A. like the question and the answered. A. blood so king bone so road. A. three stirrups makes sweat and a mane the gallop to hold the saddle. A. everywhere.
- 4x6"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Giclee prints available in my Etsy store
- Saint Symbiosis
- Your breath on my neck was sun where I was when I was with you, dark form. Where you called, history fit to your respiratory shape. Symbiotic. All unnamable bacteria safely congealed in your mouth. My shadow leaned further and further into the camouflaging air
- 4x6"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Denis is heedless instead of headless
- still a worm had a song the hum was flies was a hundred forms appropriated to buzz to a head verily the light voice seeing everything where going is was going where and yet the body wants for its word
- 4x6"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Sold
- Saint Mard
- Mard you are the saint of 2:54 p.m. on any Tuesday Wednesday or Thursday. We feel good in leaves. In being left behind to bear other centuries. In the middle of my arm there is a window where I can see you ingesting your biosphere. There is no pollution. No other self but right now. The mediocrity of employment delivers its packages outside the blinds. I believed you when you said, "Nothing done is nothing done."
- 6x4"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Saint Mark’s Own-What-He-Owns
- My over-the-head concussion My christ-muscle cabinet My only-jab-hand and night-nurse My crescent-nostril-Luke up-in-the sky My come-apart blood-limes eye My one-ounce-bone stirrups where saddle-sores My minus-two minus-three minus-one mouse-in-shoes go-home My hiccup-farmer some-trout-change My long-flame-kidney trailer-comet bring-me-home-umbilicus-'cane My linen-in-lungs falls-apart skirt My over-the-skull moose-fracture-pattern My under-the-armor hair-tournament-troops My bite-the-head-off-ant-queens Man-Man-Man My once-and-future NICE-BULLET -ta-da-ta-da
- 4x6"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Sold
- St. Lapin
- Is this how we are supposed to feel? As alone as we as barbwire as Castrato sing song? Long hears. Long looking for a mirror in a white wall. Days. Just sun and rolling over into nowhere. Could there be enough glue in April to stick together us in a hole from bb wounds? And the coyotes yelp. Can we hide? The squealed gunk congeals to form a choir. An egg sinks when your fever rises again.
- 4x6"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2007
- Sold
- Giclee prints available in my Etsy store
- Come Saint Damien
- set upon by doves and arrows shot from a dear mouth as yours embroidered yellow on a tablecloth with chicken bone and dud hand-grenade teeth and an apple gnawed to talk through we'll wrench peace from the lion's maw supper with us, Damien, we'll boil our brains too soft for warfare we'll march a stenched beat into a newly spoke land
- 6x4"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2008
- Saint Blixatomy
- Beneath your yellow fat sack Let the cool earth breathe A Kibble Prayer. Your claws Scrape a day across our arms. Be near us in a sick expanse. Be fever. Beside us, be a fulsome Orange light of hazard. And Go. Blixatomy, occupy us as a shadow. Let us be hungry, the Holy Machine of digestion purr.
- 4x6"
- oil pastel and colored pencil on paper
- 2008