Girl in the Chapel

mand | On 13/06/2015

Sound slips from the cracks, faint and sinuous at first. Twisting like wires, it tangles between her fingers, stringing her out, a marionette in a faded dress. She sways alone, cold bare feet on the dusty floor, listening as the cracks widen into fissures and the microtones battle like curses, snatching and pinching, jerking her limbs. She teeters on a broken wall, leaps and crashes into the boarded window, ricochets off. All is frenzy and heartbreak. Smoke, thunder, bombs and hunger fill the space until the music slows, the twirling wires slacken, and as she lurches against a fragment of plaster, her fingers scratch the surface. Under her nails, she recognises the remains of old pigment and remembers that blue is the colour of summer, of sea and sky and hope; and whatever happens, all cannot be lost, ever. She tugs the strings of sound to test their resilience, summons her strength and her power to harness her newest truth. She threads sound in and out the plaster, hammering with her fists, needling with her fingers, creating puckers and stitches across the cracks and fissures, wielding her weight to suture the past.

Amanda Oosthuizen

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