Mine Alone by Anne deLain Clark
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By: Anne deLain Clark
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Width: 20 in.
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Height: 14.5 in.
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Depth: 0.03 in.
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Medium: Mixed Media
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Material: Paper
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Style: Portraits
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Theme: Women
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Price: US $150
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Discount: US $0
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Domestic Shipping: US $15
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Est. Domestic Shipping Time: 10 days
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Shipping Available To: This piece will only ship to UNITED STATES
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About This Artwork
A few years back, I became obsessed with a picture my husband took of me when I was about twenty. He had scanned the original slide at a low resolution. He was disappointed with the quality of the image reproduction, but I was fascinated by the graphic simplicity. This set off a series of pieces that I created by manipulating the scan in Photoshop. This one seemed to need to be torn and reassembled. It became a clear reflection of inner struggle from sad memories, hence the addition of the poem.
Fragmented portrait of a young woman with poem – torn custom giclée print by artist on off white specialty paper – assembled on hand torn red specialty paper - Unframed/self mat - ships flat - shown here on black background
Poem text:
Mine Alone
A message while at work,
A call to hear my voice,
I flash to the brush of his hand.
I, a cello, stroked at his whim.
Just a split second,
back of hand against back of hand.
My words stop.
I look away.
Standing over the Mississippi,
“Your hair is pretty in the wind.”
He touched the fine threads on my cheeks,
Finger tips on my breasts.
“Are you always this gentle?”
“I’m a man.”
My words stop.
I look away.
“It would be so nice to wake up with you,”
words that made my prison.
There was nothing to wake up from,
nothing but endless waiting for sunrise.
I did say, “Please don’t do that,”
but not enough.
You don’t understand.
I wanted him to be shy.
I wanted to be a child,
innocent, controlled.
I wanted to be cared for
held, cherished.
I, a cello, or maybe violin,
wooden, unmoving,
yet yielding to his stroke,
singing in a minor key.
Memories are mine alone.
I won’t let them go.
I won’t stop his calling.
I won’t stop his writing.
I would not stop his fingers.
I would not stop his hands.
I would not stop his touch.
I would not stop…