An exploration of an embodied sense of what grief feels like – fragile, beautiful, strange, weighted, dangerous, glittering, with an unnerving sound when worn.
It has a poem that weaves around its form printed onto individual cast glass swan’s feather by the poet Sally Crabtree.
Under the bodice of the night
Is light
Bursting to get out
The night hardly dare breath
In her dizziness thoughts become stars
And all her words whisper is ‘ desire’
So full of it is she and too the dawn,
Until they can resist no longer
The bodice is torn open
From their passion
The day is born.
