Photo: Rhiannon Lowe in Cardiff, Wales

Rhiannon Lowe

Maker, Curator, Arts administrator

...she cuts and cuts pulling at the edges, twisting and turning, part in anger part hurt, she tries to open it up, delving in and dragging her fingers through, feeling right down, inside, with a final try, she grips what she’s holding and makes as if to cry, her face pulled at the edges, twisted and torn in anger and pain, she tries to part her lips, her tongue delving at her teeth then dragging, touching, reaching deep, further up inside, with a last attempt she grips what she’s held fast by and tries to contort her legs up against the edges, twisted under and torn right and left in anger and hurt, the open depths of the cut she’s had made, at the place where something used to be, but only her fingers remain, reaching deep inside as she unfolds with a final attempt, cuts and cuts, tears the torn and twisted edges, he was awake first, but she quickly came to, pushing and dragging herself up and out, away from the ragged, twisted and torn edges, crawling, hauling her legs and arms behind, angry and in pain already, crying with despair, baring her teeth, lips pulled and taught, finding comfort in the floor, slumping and contorting her body, holding her unearthly shape, fast against the far, riveted, pitted, teeth-bitten wall, not daring to try look or touch the place where something used to be, torn, twisted, pulled up inside, within her depths, open, she feared, she, she held herself just to the right out of line, gripping the edges, ripped and torn, her legs astray, her body unearthly, caught, taught tight, propped up against the teeth-pitted wall, every turn and move sucking and pulling her under, limbs dragging and tearing, fingers straight and flung, out hard off away, windmill-hands scooping at shadows in her effort to stop herself, halt herself, pin herself, keep still just for a moment, contorted, reaching further still out away, delving at nothing, the gaps and depths lurid, he sidles in, picking and pulling, undoing and worrying, sniffing, and bellowing, muffled but far too clear, destroying her ears, she drags, grasping at her hair, yanking it, out, away, twisting it hard, so it hurts her, lifting patches of scalp in pinnacles, to try distract from the spite, and the terror, the twisted, torn pull of what’s left of, what’s left behind, cut up, up deep inside, she turns unearthed to one side, rolling, drags her stray eyes back around after her, flings her lips open, crouches down, legs askew, curling her back, positioning her pulled neck, craning, straining, hauls the lamp round, cushioning her shoulders, tightens her abdomen to point her place where something used to be towards the mammoth refection, howling back at her raw gaze, she forces her eyes nearer, down, bumping passed the mirror’s rim, the swollen, engorged bulb, bursting, heaving, ever pulling in and pushing back out, catches her sight by blunt stealth, enormous and trans-morphous, otherworldly, destroying the eye, breaking the flat taught, shrinking stomach surface, forcing, sculpting a wet shape outside or her, that doesn’t fit in her body, in her eyesight, making opening to inside that shouldn’t be, causing curtailing, she baulks, heaves, he, she stops up, short, breaking her only wild thought, head bowed, sight shut, lids rubbed raw, fisted, flattened and battened down, she sees only depths now, internal heights measured by drop, he fills her up with cement and stone, rivets and teeth, pouring from heights he can see but not reach, her edges bulge and contort out, windmill hands dragging her only further, torn, slumped now, lips bared, she sucks, muffled sounds grasping, she weighs him down, she fills him with cement and stone, pushes him off away from the bank, cutting up each forearm as she does, upwards, she misses the outstretched hands, his mouth emptying before she can refill him up, the pebbles tumble, he appears to dance, the water making his legs and feet flail, she grips her edges, she cries in pain and anger, delving and dragging at the torn arms, her shift in feeling bringing slight respite from the bursting, the heaving, the leaking, dirty and shamed, ragged and twisted body, pulling and crawling...

Location Cardiff, Wales
Activities Publishing, Studio practice
Artforms / type of project Drawing, Illustration

News & Events

  • Fools Like Me/North Star

    17/09/2015 – 25/10/2015
    The Ropewalk, Barton-upon-Humber

    New show of work opened at The Ropewalk, Barton on Saturday 12 September, runs until 25 October, mix of new and old work, drawings and print

    Find out more