I don’t know how to say it another way. I stop thinking of when, only thinking of what. No more whens or ifs. Layla in the clay. She’s in there, waiting to come out. I use my fingers to try to find her. Like she’s hiding and I’ve got to find her and bring her out. I don’t think of where I am when I’m working. Everything else goes away, this room, the neighborhood, the building on the other side of the block, Blade and Petey, I even forget Bill is there, listening, watching. I don’t know how long we’ve been working but when I look up he’s looking at me. Not the way he was studying me when he sculpted me, but … I dunno, nice somehow. Nobody ever looked at me like that before. “What?” I say. “You were talking to yourself.” “I was?” “Yeah. Who’s Blade?” “He’s … over on my side of the block.” “He sounds like a very bad man.” “He’s badder than words can say.” I think about telling Bill about how Blade got his name, about the drugs and the money and the girls, and Petey hunting me for him, but Bill wouldn’t believe me, wouldn’t get it.
What do You think about Paintings From The Cave (2011)?
