There is a pain—so utter—
It swallows substance up—
Then covers the Abyss with Trance—
So Memory can step
Around—across—upon
As one within a Swoon—
Goes safely—where an open eye—
Would drop Him—Bone by Bone.
— Emily Dickinson
Fabienne Francotte’s works remind a viewer of this poem by Emily Dickinson, but in the opposite way. Looking at her paintings is like staring into that abyss of pain. What does suffering look like? What happens when memory cannot step around or across it? What happens when the veil of trance, with which we keep pain at bay, is lifted? What happens when we can no longer navigate pain safely as ‘one within a swoon’?
