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  • Abi Starr

Texture

I was quite daunted when we were given this brief, as I consider myself a very visual person. Luckily, I also have quite a good imagination. So, I closed my eyes, and this is the resulting piece. One of my tutors said the only thing wrong with it was a missing apostrophe!


Cylindrical, gnarled and knotted. Too big for you to embrace in a hug. Covered in rifts and ridges formed over tens, if not hundreds of years. Dry, hard and unforgiving. It’ll graze your skin if you’re not careful. But your fingers still tentatively explore every nook and cranny they can reach. Up. Around. Down. Scouting in all directions. A sharp feeling in one of your hands. A splinter. You try to ignore the pain. Ow. Serves you right; curiosity killed the cat, and all that.


Above, velvety, paper thin shapes dance on the brisk breeze, just out of reach of your curious fingertips. Their crispness couples with the air, forming an unmistakable ‘Whoosh!’ as stronger gusts blow through. All the same, not one unique. Natures confetti; anchored into place, for now at least. You long for the shorter days, when you can investigate these complex ‘things’ and feel every pore, tooth and vein for yourself.


Below is soggy and squelchy. Your feet sink into the moisture around them. Sharp cold penetrates your shoes. But still you stand. Powerful wooden arms radiate in a complex network from the centre. Patterned in tortoiseshell and adorned with sponge and crust. Damp, yes. Unpleasant, no. Your fingers march on, taking in every inch of the surface.


You’re so grateful that you closed your eyes.

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