A chair designed not for ergonomic efficiency but for filtration and dispersal, allowing the body to sift and wane, for the body to sigh.
A sturdy object, immutable, fixgeared mobile through an exertion of force, the application of hands in rotation—an object in motion remaining in motion—the curvature of fingers around a cylinder filled with breath: yours. Exhale, baby.
A chair not used for the extension of the body but for coiling and folding: folding the exterior, coiling the interior: discordant body: manipulated flat, muscles aerated, skin fleeced and fibered, emotions bodiced: please: sit, relax, delight.
The day you restrained my wrists with woven silk, the hour you immobilized my eyes with fusilladed tongues and striated lips, the minute you removed your own desire and coraled my ankles, calves, knees, thighs with it, that second you held me, it was only a moment—a wink, a flutter. This is where I go when I brim, precarious.
Photo By: Suzanne Hanlon