Jen Broadhurst Gobbildy-GookOpening: Wednesday 3 September, 6-8pm Dates: 3 - 20 September 2014
We were carried eleven months in our mother’s belly. We drank neat, eating salt meat and great provisions of sausages. In the vigour of our age we became jolly, well-mouthed, and oftentimes did rub and frot our bacon against one another. Our mother did carry her great belly as a masterpiece of nature, predestined to the performance.
Born upon the year of our conception and receiving perfect form, we became beasts in our fullness. We wallowed in the dirt, sullied our shoes, combed our hair with our broth and laughed in biting. Very pleasantly we passed the time with sweet flowers, curious rubies, and fine silk tufts. We took you know what between our fingers and dangled it until it did revive and creep to the bulk and stiffness of a suppository.
After the moon’s cycle, we knew not what to say, nor what to do. We cut it, astonished by grief so fair and so great. Our touch-traps and rump splitters were spread upon the leather. Troubled and pestered and entangled in weeping, our mother lay out the cloth, lit the candles, and shut the door. With false death we cried like cows.