the failed violinist

Randomly drawn cut-up phrases from a magazine article about a Singaporean artist. A pastiche made coherent, hopefully. You can view her awesome art here.

She is, unexpectedly, “The Failed Violinist”.
The teacher was awful, she commiserated
with herself, wringing out a resigned emotion.

“My poor sister is expecting.” She’s wary.
The creepy thief of freedom. Prevention from
smoking and drinking, unfortunate casualties.

New people strip you down, pretending.
All the while they’re scaling you to size.
Sorority girl, cougar, punk, treehugger.

Am I allowed to say, I’m a material girl,
indulging in excesses, toting the pleasures
of a closet full of shoes, branded preferably?

Chinese ink scrolls teach austerity, inscribe
a calligraphy of moral sayings. Lyrically
recite. The fluid metaphors are so subtle.

I relive my childhood, write my confessions.
I feel like these hands emanate old fingers,
reveal a personality, an angry hedonist.

I secretly quit the world and its issues,
drawing nakedly. Privately, in my head,
life can be expressed, art school-like.