gom (they/them)Stuck at stations - acrylic on stone paper (240gsm), 42 x 29.7 cm
If I ever write an auto-biography, it won't be one, really. But it'll definitely be called Stuck at Stations, since that's self-deprecating enough to be disguised as an auto-biography, and ambiguous enough to turn into a social critique. I am stuck at stations quite often, though. I don't mind it. Overall, many of my most memorable moments have occurred at such times. Like this one time when I observed these two teenage boys who were clearly infatuated with one another, but not knowing what to do with themselves, it all just came out as nervous energy. It was beautiful. Or this other time when I ended up beside a couple in their early 20s, one of whom was a trans person. It was a huge station and we were the only ones there. We never spoke, we just sat there, next to each other, enjoying each other's company for a couple of hours.
This time I was stuck at a station by accident, one might say. I was headed home from my day job, having just been in an awful meeting. Granted, most meetings are, but this hit harder than usual. On the train back home I started writing, just everything I felt and thought. Furiously pouring it all out, one page after the other. I wrote "fuck" a lot. Needless to say, I got so into it that I missed my stop - but to my defense, they never announced it. In any case, I had to get off at the next station, and wait to catch a train back from there.
While I waited I took a little walk around the block, and ended up in this little alley. The elegant, history-laden turn of the 20th century buildings, framing this dark and dirty loading bay. And the spring rain. I stayed there until my train home arrived, because I belonged there. Just listening to all the dead souls.
#AcrylicPainting #Acrylic #Painting #NonbinaryArtist #VeganArtMaterials
If I ever write an auto-biography, it won't be one, really. But it'll definitely be called Stuck at Stations, since that's self-deprecating enough to be disguised as an auto-biography, and ambiguous enough to turn into a social critique. I am stuck at stations quite often, though. I don't mind it. Overall, many of my most memorable moments have occurred at such times. Like this one time when I observed these two teenage boys who were clearly infatuated with one another, but not knowing what to do with themselves, it all just came out as nervous energy. It was beautiful. Or this other time when I ended up beside a couple in their early 20s, one of whom was a trans person. It was a huge station and we were the only ones there. We never spoke, we just sat there, next to each other, enjoying each other's company for a couple of hours.
This time I was stuck at a station by accident, one might say. I was headed home from my day job, having just been in an awful meeting. Granted, most meetings are, but this hit harder than usual. On the train back home I started writing, just everything I felt and thought. Furiously pouring it all out, one page after the other. I wrote "fuck" a lot. Needless to say, I got so into it that I missed my stop - but to my defense, they never announced it. In any case, I had to get off at the next station, and wait to catch a train back from there.
While I waited I took a little walk around the block, and ended up in this little alley. The elegant, history-laden turn of the 20th century buildings, framing this dark and dirty loading bay. And the spring rain. I stayed there until my train home arrived, because I belonged there. Just listening to all the dead souls.
#AcrylicPainting #Acrylic #Painting #NonbinaryArtist #VeganArtMaterials
Illi Anna Heger
