Patricia Rodas's profile

The Most Intimate Hideaways

Since 2012 I ́ve been working with the body of work “The Most Intimate Hideaways ”.
I work with analogue large format camera and in black&white.
In this serie of pictures I influence the exposure process through hands-on behaviour, like hitting the body of the camera or kicking the tripod. This is, in fact, to reconstruct a state of mind during a rough situation in a violent relationship I experienced in the past.
My body of work, “The Most Intimate Hideaways” consists of two parts. One is the photographs which picture the imaginary hidden places my mind escaped to. The second part is poems which describe the struggle between escaping and subjection with stagnation as a result.  

Domestic violence is not only a personal question, it is highly a social issue and as I feel, it ́s extremely important to enlighten other women's experiences from this kind of trauma.  
In the beginning
there was a consuming
it propagated
between the relation
and these two
in the classic way
there were several
and one of these
was amazed
and stepped aside
and one of these
drew borders
and drew
and drew again
shame on you
and it grew
it consumed
the oxygen
and one of these
in dyspnea
but taught
the body
carbon dioxide
that’s true
and one of these took
and was the one to give
until one day
one of these
sprang a leak
and the other
stubbornly resisted 
Undoubtedly, I sink into
where something encloses
but that’s later
first tiny constituents
dry, naturally
a dry spread becomes
a creeping
heavy mass
it breathes
All my fears
spread like oil on water
In anger I’m triggered off
don’t think it ends here
Only anointed rings
where I’ve swam
that evenings of breast-strokes
don’t give webbed feet; apparently
but water
the constant silencer
Fall frequency
Well-trodden paths in the orchard
become deep furrows
An autumnal nightmare
A burning transgression
Humpty – Dumpty
The fruit trees
divinely lit
to grant me permission
The loaded particles
electron protons
hissing in the rain
they hang heavily
forbidding fruits to fall
Gradually gravity asserts itself
in a cold sweat
and the probability
to decipher sign of maturing
I rage
I dig
listening for sounds of falls
then I contemplate
fall marks and burn marks
carefully considering
hand cupped
Juices leaking
Noticed by no one
I still have a strong suspicion
Without hesitation
resolutely biting out
the cores
Muffled thuds are heard
Beneath the trees, a life
Then I gather the cover off the ground
it can be done
they give consent
under alleviating circumstances
electron protons
like microscopic orphans
Those marked by their fall with round smudgy spots
are tapped for their juice
this is how to avoid the rot
those marked by their burns
The embers ever present
are wrapped in newspapers
are carefully placed to
ensure contact
not allowed
Thus I squeeze fruit
between my palms
With a perspective on myself
I expect suitable temperature
I indulge myself in
Compote of fruits with jellylike seals
stuffed pies
dripping custards
the wall-to-wall carpet
with stains of calvados
where crumbs mix with imprints
of heels
Wine-Poached Fruit Halves with Sabayone
Spiced with saffron
Underneath the chandelier
precarious balance of laughs
Never cutlery in the dark
Thus I tear off the bark
drain the ground surrounding
to seldom risk
secrets I keep to myself
A beautiful indication of illness 
Through subcutis
undoubtedly rises
a shoot
Condensed itching
under my nails
I weed the saplings
not that it helps
I cleave roots
into small particles
force them into the Herbarium
by a gravity of my own
Thus I lubricate the soil
pour adrenalin into my veins
just to be sure
Sharp deduction

Then I beat
the odds
to let me in

Naturally the door is closed

I kick it in
into shreds
to make completely sure


I see

It seeps through the crack of the door

I need to cover that crack
the only way I can

So I prise open the jaws
and spit the kernels in

The Most Intimate Hideaways

The Most Intimate Hideaways

on going project


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