Christina Gossmann: Traces of Nairobi

Anchor. (Clay, watercolor and acrylic on cardboard, 4"x7")

Reach. (Watercolor and string on paper, 8.5"x11")

Field. (Watercolor on paper, 28"x26")

Return. (Charcoal on paper, 38.5"x28")

Untitled. (Watercolor 7 x7")

Untitled. (Watercolor 7 x7")

Flight. (Watercolor 22"x30")

Wash. (Watercolor 14"x22")

Muñeca de Trapo

Through the illusion of time
And intoxicating companions,
Our unconscious souls clashed
In the most intimate form
That I know you will fight to forget
As I mend the scars on the doll.

The clash of our souls,
Blurs and reluctance,
Turn into truth.
The clash of our cores
This accidental yet magical bond.
That I must fight to forget
As I mend the scars on the doll.

When did the door allow us in?
How did the shirts unbuttoned?
When did the belts ceased to buckle?
Why don't they want to respond?

Let me then mend
What our hands once tore voluntarily
Let me sow a new smile.
Let me mend the scars on the doll.

Be

I tried to let go of my hand
So she could be fully herself.
She struggled and struggled
Then began to exist.

As she was born,
As she laid there
On a plain paper bed,
What began as a stroke
Soon was begging for form.

Different shades. Same attitude.
I could do nothing but let them be.
Curved and similar.
Persistent crowd of strokes.

I despise them but let them strive
Against my judgement
Against my hate.

Take form. Be.

Careless Self

In the middle of two spaces,
I find my careless self being pulled apart.
It could be dangerous.
It could be amazing.
I at times wonder if the last thought
Keeping those two worlds together
By a long, thin, careless self
Were to break.
How many new possibilities would emerge?
How many damages would it create?
Hang in there, my dear thought.
Don't ever let yourself be torn apart,
Unless you absolutely need to be torn apart.

Tus Visitas en mis Sueños

Pensé que ya me había resignado.
Pensé que ya no te iba a recordar.
Y aunque mi mente me obligue a negarlo,
Mi alma en ti no deja de pensar.

Algunas veces en mis noches sudadas
Aun recibo tus amargas visitas.
Y aunque por siempre intente olvidarlas
Sigues regresando a mis noches malditas.

Imposibles son los encuentros.
Imposibles son tus caricias.
¡Qué absurdo me suena este cuento
Que yo mismo escribo de prisa!

Así regreses o no vuelvas nunca
Yo siempre te seguiré pensando
No porque merezcas ni una
De mis noches por ti delirando.

Espero y sea sólo la idea
De con un alguien sentirme cerca.
Y que no seas tú a quien mi conciencia desea
Porque muy pronto mi alma se seca.