The Sanctuary (of Roses, Love and Loathing)

“When it’s real, you just know”- Erykah Badu
This is a woman tapped in.
Come to the sanctuary.
The ancient in the everyday is filtered through the straight and the jacket.  The babes and Madonna are watching.
The exquisite hair, tooth and chintz of the female pains.  Prayerful plastic and pussy gold (and wild puss Loonie in the corner).
 The demi-ones and the sainted, the lost children and the ugly portraits.  Contained in the Roma heart, it’s dust and edifice given a crisp framing on the Wollongong Gallery White.
Tiny penises and the hung babies, strung roses and the cherished words.
Tania Mastroianni
Tania Maria Mastroianni.  Above, above.  So far above other work that I see.  So tapped into the pink sewers and blood of the feminine.  A feral beasty call contained in crochet and lacquer.
This shit, people.  You gotta see this shit.  You know when you see a Frida Kahlo and she is so her and the work is so itself that it is another realm altogether?  It’s happening, now, in Wollongong, Australia.
See it.
(And come to the Artist Floor Talk tomorrow 2pm to 3pm).
(And make your own Mystery – Ex Voto sacred object full of prayer and the life at the workshop).

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