I was lucky enough to meet my artist, Borja Perez Mielgo, on the day of the exhibition opening and he has given me the green light to put his work up here. He does not have a website yet but I'll keep you posted:
At first glance, there's a lot to take in. I allowed myself a while to think about it before I started and eventually decided to do a little research into the symbolism. I discovered that 'Fortitude' is a tarot card which commonly displays a woman and a lion as its motif, so continuing on this theme, I based my writing around the cards. And here it is:
Fortitude
She watched the colours fade
from the card, they distorted and dripped; the hand, the numerals, the chain.
When it was completely blank, she tossed it onto the fire. The corners curled
and blackened before it succumbed completely to the embers.
Then it was gone.
She smiled.
She peered over the edge. There
wasn’t much left of him now either, he had stopped squealing a while before.
All she could hear was the Cuttlecrawlers drinking up the last of him, suckling
and nuzzling like placated babies. The horns were always the last bits to go,
the regurgitated intestinal fluids had a hard time eating through them, even
with the help of the engorged tentacles. The sound of their snuffling and the
wafts of their excited sulphuric burps tickled nauseatingly at her stomach. She
could barely see the ground through the writhing mass of feelers, twitching and
squirming languorously after their unexpectedly large meal. There wouldn’t be a
bone left when they were done with him, nothing but a sour smell and a slightly
scorched patch where the bile had burnt through.
She took another sip of her
coffee and put the rest of the stack to one side.
The eagle incident had been
unfortunate. Adelaide had been a good hunter and a fast flyer, supplying the
group with a steady flow of rabbits. She had warned her about swooping too low
over the polyp fields, but of course she was sick.
And young.
Her anti-Icarus.
She would miss her.
She opened up her satchel
and took out the remaining cookies. Six in total; four raisin and two oatmeal. They
wouldn’t last long, she had already gone over her allowance for that day but
they had all needed it, what was left of her rag tag team. She had enough flour
and butter for two more batches, provided she could find a safe place and some
good wood for an earth oven. She liked to use oak, it gave them a earthy,
smokey flavour. Cookies were a bit of a hassle to make but they travelled well,
especially if she found some good munrom leaves to wrap them in.
She glanced at Captain. He
had shrunk down to normal size again which was good, he would need less food
that way. They wouldn’t be going anywhere until at least the morning and they
were out of reach up there. She took swigged the last of her coffee; her fifth
cup that day. She should really cut down but it helped sooth her post-battle
jitters. She’d needed it even more after giving up the tobaccamon pipe, it gave
her something to do with her trembling hands.
With a sigh, Captain
uncurled and rolled onto his back, letting his heavy paws dangle in the air. He
paddled them and twitched his ears occasionally, letting out huge snoring purrs
which fluttered at his nostrils. He was probably dreaming of chasing wild pigs,
she thought, or soaring through the celestial plains in pursuit of albatross.
He loved albatross.
She cleared away the cooking
stove, pots and pans, and added a little wood to the fire from the bundle they’d
brought. She tipped the coffee mulch over the side, that would give the crawlers
a buzz. She rinsed the cup and packed it back into the saddle bag and then
pulled out her knife and looked at herself in the blade. She regarded her newly
cracked tooth and the heavy circles under her eyes, the greasy hair and sallow skin.
With a shake of her head she re-sheathed it.
It was best not to look.
She picked up the deck again
and shuffled it, sliding the cards in on themselves over and over again. She smirked
at how light they felt in her fingers. She was about halfway through with only
a few Major Arcana left, she’d be glad to finish and go home.
She looked out over the
landscape that the sun was scurrying to hide behind. When it was dark the Tartaran
creatures would heave themselves out of their day-time holes, their pockets of
night-time in the flood of light, and slither and creep in search of something
soft, warm and beating. She would hear their low moans and heavy growls in an
hour or so, the click of the palpitating mandibles, the desperate shrieks of a
constricted meal.
Even the crawlers pushed
themselves deep into the black crystal sand, twisting and coiling until their
flaccid bodies were completely covered. If they felt particularly bold they
would push up a tentacle or two up into the bitter night air and then snatch
furtively at unsuspecting mice and golgors. Once caught, they’d hurry them into
their warm lair beneath the onyx grains and gorge, trying to quieten their
slurps and impatient gurgles. They’d pause mid-guzzle whenever anything heavy
and terrible passed overhead, only daring to open all their eyes and breathe
again once silence was restored.
They were safe up there
though, she reminded herself, on that curious structure built by a people she
knew nothing about, in a time that no one remembers. She wondered what the
world would have looked like then, in the times before the Haze. Did they have
any idea of what was coming, of what was waiting for them? There wasn’t much
left of it anymore, just a few monoliths here and there and the strange stone
arrangements swept up in the dust.
She looked down at the
cards.
With her eyes closed she
finished shuffling and arranged them in front of her, just as she had been
taught all those years ago, piling them neatly and confidently until she had
run out. In the dying light she took the top card from the spread.
With a deep breath, she turned
it over and opened her eyes.
XII
The colours flashed: red,
blue, yellow.
She regarded it for a moment
before placing it in the inside pocket of her cloak and then stashed the rest
of the pack in her satchel. She unpacked and unrolled the blanket, threw it
over Captain and got in beside him, burying into his fur for warmth, his heavy sleep-breathing
a comfort to her. She lay flat on her back and studied the emerging stars, but
they provided no answers for her that night. The heavens remained tight-lipped
for her. Instead, she rolled to look at the fire. Its licking and lolling felt
warm on her face. She drew the blanket in around her.
The Hanged Man.
She would need to get some
sleep.
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