Cadaver Feet Project
45"x72"
Mix Media
Cadaver Feet Project has been an inspiration from the flash story "Cadaver Feet" by, Karen Bovenmeyer.
On the past month of May, 2012, I was one of the 22 selected visual artists, who will work up a piece for a collaborative show between writers and painters from all around the United States. This show will be held on October 6, 2012 from 6 to 10pm at Art on the Boulevard Gallery, in Fort Worth Tx.
Art and Words Collaborative Show will converge forty-four pieces between written and visual arts, they both will be on display and for sale. It will be a free, all ages event, with free food and refreshments. Live jazz band from Denton, Texas, will play throughout the night, pausing only for the reading of some of the written pieces. The band will even play a piece based on one of the poems. Below the poem responsible for the muse and creation of "Cadaver Feet Project"
Art and Words Collaborative Show will converge forty-four pieces between written and visual arts, they both will be on display and for sale. It will be a free, all ages event, with free food and refreshments. Live jazz band from Denton, Texas, will play throughout the night, pausing only for the reading of some of the written pieces. The band will even play a piece based on one of the poems. Below the poem responsible for the muse and creation of "Cadaver Feet Project"
Cadaver Feet
by Karen Bovenmeyer
When we invented this machine, it tied the tendons of a human foot, flexing muscle in and out, rolling metatarsals, mimicking human motion. Machine and man, dead now, both flesh and metal, yet still moving. Pins drilled into bones, for study. We can’t do these things to living feet, it would hurt, we told ourselves. So then, a second life of sorts, a Frankenstein revival.
When the feet started nudging our ankles, hopping about the lab with soft slapping sounds, impatiently snapping toes for attention, we tried to confine them. Mangled remains of socks, running shoes shredded, nothing would contain their gleeful nakedness. They hammered at the door. They wanted out of the windowless dark.
So now I walk them, a cacophony of feet, clattering down stairs and over walkways, out into sunlit grass. My strange flock, like so many pigeons, arrayed around me on the soft green of central campus. When I slip off my shoes and sink my toes in the turf, the big toe of Subject 13 bumps curiously against my own, then is off again with her fellows. I walk the feet, or, shall I say, they walk me.
