Brooke Forbes

There’s a time, for introspection, and sharing thoughts that jumble together one moment and stretch like a silk-woven tapestry the next. 

It’s the best of existence, a weaving of branch and twig, a collection of objects to hoard and savour – something to keep me safe. 

I’m wondering in the chill air of the early morning how fruitful it actually is to pick this nest apart – 

Branch by branch, item by item, remove the feathered interior and let the layers become bare to the world. 

I’m wondering how fruitful this dissection could be – in a world that responds to wholeness, that respects the product but never the process. 

What will I find in there? 

Hidden away, a relic of another time. 

What will I find in there?

Displace ego and a recipe for Grandma’s chocolate pudding. 

What will I find in there?

A pink now-stolen 90s cassette player, ready to play forgotten girl bands – 

Or a late 90s CD player, proudly blaring Little Sister, from Jewel, in an attempt for a young mind to understand an ounce of sadness. 

What will I find there?

Melted candles and late night horror movie sleepovers; fearing for my life in a cocooned safety-net. 

What will I find there?

Love, loss, reunion and learnings. 

I awake, from a deep slumber, ready to dissect it all – pull on the threads of the tapestry and unweave a little. 

But a fear takes hold, akin to watching Scream for the first time, and I’m jolted into motionlessness. 

What if the unpicking unfolds me –

What if a slow dissection leaves me broken in parts that can’t be put back together? 

Maybe it’s better to reflect on this material art as a whole –

Watch it from above, acknowledging the beauty, labor and pain it took to create it in the first place.