Liz Zumin


Liz Zumin

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If I present myself to them

What of their measurement and their avoidance?

It is a survival, a learning to live

A pellicle thin as skin on black tea.

Few poets don’t wear the mask.

Part of her wanted nothing

She had long ago stopped trying to understand

It was always paradoxical and imprecise

Causing great difficulty

Then it was summer

Their posture and noise,

Mixed with other qualities as meditation, perfume

A boy in a red sweater, a bias-cut reality.

What if I said to you that it was your failures

That buckled into my truth.

You call this vestige passivity?

Some say the soul is made of wind with stooped shoulders

And we are a mere sigh.

I have the power to see in the distance

There is much more than what it seems.

Liz Zumin

Liz Zumin is an artist working across art forms including performance, video and text. Her practice stems from an interest in contagion, suggestion and imitation, the forming of relations, and how affect is transmitted between bodies and becomes enacted at a neurological, chemical and anatomical level.