You round the corner homeand, all at once, feel yourself strainingto bring back the memories you’ve worked so hard to erase. Smudged, barely legible,hastily marked upto hide the momentstoo sweet,too searing,to remember. Now, you want them all.The sweetness, the levity,the claustrophobia,the panic. Now, you want to cradle themgently, in your lap,as you think just how,howContinue reading “A poem for those with mending hearts”
As soon as you’ve landed on the bare bones of your place—you know, the basic furniture to help you live a functional life—the first thing people will tell you is to find some damn art to hang up on your walls. But this is ridiculously easier said than done.
When I take in Venlet’s work, I feel like I’m looking at a memory from someone else’s mind—a sweet moment from their childhood home, or their favourite way to spend an afternoon. The granular details aren’t there—instead, we see broad strokes of plump colours. The perspective of her pieces is somewhat distorted, too; and it’s not meant to be perfect. What we are drawn to are the colours, patterns, and light. Just like our memories.