Adam Engström

Painting: Acrylic and oil on canvas
100 x 200 cm 

Your limbs don’t belong to you anymore, they grasp in vain, flushed with heat, cold as a witches tit, your bodily functions don’t make sense to you anymore. The things you seek in your own reflection are no more, and all that is left at the bottom of the river is a great bitterness, it’s your humanness staring back at you, despite everything you still have the ability to feel bitter. Your body has become a monstrosity, a strange bundle of appendages, with no end and no beginning. The world still moves even if the real you is trapped somewhere within this meaty otherness, there is an objective world you keep telling yourself, there is a god. 

You keep fishing, because fishing is what you do, but your arms wont move like they used to, they stick to the ground, bound by the gravitational pull. They twitch like dying insects as you try to animate them with your brain. Like a statue you're doomed to exist within a representation of something that used to have a function.

You put the remains of the gutted fish into the great meat machine and out comes a new life, an unwritten page. The newborn sack of clear flesh slithers in the damp sand, if it had a mouth you know it would smile.

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