‘Clay’ by David Pollard
Clay im Camille Claudel Clay is its own reward for all the time it takes to work on the explicit touch of skin on skin’s remembrance in the eye and the delight of re-appearance in its own image that might breathe again all the quick light and salamander air of its eternity and judgement and damnation. O it is finished and dried out, the angles … Continue reading ‘Clay’ by David Pollard