Feathers of Our Fathers


What about us is inherited and what about us is for us to decide?

This is a question that has haunted me a great deal.  So much of our world views are taught at the knees of our parents, and they at theirs.

This Be The Verse


They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
    They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
    And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
    By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
    And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
    It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
    And don’t have any kids yourself.
Love this poem.  And so … this is part of my quest for answers.

As have feathers, in all their myriad symbology across global cultures.  I love what they represent to me – freedom, power, an ethereal ‘other’.  A symbol of survival and renewal.

This is a painting which in its concept holds the precepts of the Native American ideology in its claws and was my way of investigating a little what that means.  However, more than that it is an open ended question: eternally difficult to answer or come to terms with.


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