"speaking in tongues"
Mixed-media & collage, 18" W X 18" H - PRICE $700
additional descriptive info about this piece: the tongue in the piece is "unfurled" by turning the crank on the right side and the "third eye" is electrified and lights up. a transcription of the text on the unrolled toungue reads as follows: 
  "SPEAKING IN TONGUES" by Elizabeth Paxson

…an interactive self-portrait created in 2004 for the 40 X 40 show in Detroit.
What the tongue says is an abbreviated autobiography written roughly in ten-year segments, starting in 1951 and ending at the time the piece was completed.

1951- I am born in a blizzard. My father misses the big event. But it's the 50's.
I learn to talk quickly. I am told to be quiet. Girls don't speak loudly. At Sunday school, a boy throws sand in my face. My first hypocrite. 1954- My father dies in a plane crash. He misses my life. The snowy owl comes to my window with secrets. I talk to the mirror. There are ghosts in our house. There are faces in the plaster. The rules have been established. I am not enjoying them. It's the 50's. The rules do not fit with who I am. I devise methods of escape. The road begins to look very long and monotonous. I need a detour. There are casualties along the way. It's all about progress. It's the 50's. I pick berries in fields of DDT. The beach is a refuge. The river is a refuge. I jump off a chair repeatedly, in a vain attempt to fly. I am warned about hobos. Duck and cover.
Now it's the 60's. All bets are off. Beats are hip. A quantum leap. A shift occurs. I wear funky clothes I make myself. I am bitchy. I go away to art school where I actually fit in. I fall in love, then get jilted. I try sex and like it. I excel at art. I win awards. I can't believe it. Maybe there's a God. Maybe she likes me. Maybe not. I try on religions like hats. I prefer hats. I break the rules. I go to civil rights camp. I join a folk band. I enjoy it. I keep singing. I become an activist. But all the great liberals get knocked off.

70's- I finish art school and there are no jobs. I move a lot. I'm terrified, so I get married. This is a stupid plan. After 2 years, I divorce. I find husband #2. We move again. I experiment with drugs and alcohol. I find them non-productive. Divorce #2. I am told I will never have children. I will make art. I make art. I cry a lot. I begin to forgive my family for their failures. I keep singing, for love, for life, for justice. My failures are not yet forgivable. I know this is no accident. Evil is afoot in the world.

80's- I finally learn to live by myself. I love it. I am free. I am mystified by relationships. Love/Hate, Love/Hate. I date a lot, hoping to learn something useful. I don't- instead, I discover I am pregnant. I am happy. The father says he is thrilled. I move 3,000 miles away to him. Now he is not at all thrilled. It gets ugly, so I leave. But I have this wonderful daughter. I marry again. We have several happy years together, but we divorce in the end. I am given an A+ for effort. I am afraid I'm not marriage material.

90's- The Beaded Woman comes to me in a dream. Wolves are howling. The world is consumed by greed. I write a lot. I am on shit lists. I make art. I make jokes. If you want the truth, ask an artist. "Since I am too old to correct you, you must suffer in your own ignorance." My daughter is my best teacher.

2000- An ill wind blows. We must make noise and art. I rage against injustice. A skunk is still a skunk- even if you put a hat on it. I still believe. Magic is afoot. We are God. But then I marry again. We are soulmates. Love, Liz. 
 
 

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