Slowly, to consciousness, come and find your face crushed on pavement viscous. Dirt falling from eyelashes, blinking it away, gradually bringing your mind around.
On a long-stretch of road, nose full of tar, all movement meagre, your energy’s long fallen from bones. Use your dwindling strength to bring back what happened. Raise hand to forehead and press down on the crumbling wound there.
Fun shapes, bold colours–certainly terms that describe the visual creations of Emily Storvold.
Still, anyone close to her knows that under her more playful layer is a head brimming with philosophical rumination, and more specifically, rumination as it relates to existence. That’s probably why she reacted so positively when I found myself asking: