Self (Marc Quinn)You took 8 pints of your own blood,Froze it, and out of itYou sculpted your own head.Art, on a life support. Most people were disgusted.A wretch really echoes In an art gallery. Red really chokes conforming white.Behind the glass caseYour untamed, decapitated animal sat,My very own Lord of the Flies.It spoke to me about The fragility of life,Questioned who, out of the two of us,Was more human.My gut instinct when facedWith you looking a million pounds(or around that rumoured, at auction), Was to lick.To erode your sorbet cheek with my tongueTo taste, in cold blood.I researched that the head and the bloodBoth take up 8% each Of the weight of the human body.I wonder if you knew this.I wonder if it has any significance to your vision.I think of how you must beSo much colderThan the death mask.I think of you every timeI get a rush of blood to the head.
{"Image ImageDescription": "by Marc Quinn, blood (artist's), liquid silicone, stainless steel, glass, perspex and refrigeration equipment, 2006", "Image Orientation": "Horizontal (normal)", "Image Artist": "National Portrait Gallery London", "Image Copyright": "\u00a9 Marc Quinn. Photography by Todd-White Art Photography, courtesy White Cube, London", "Image ExifOffset": "310", "EXIF ColorSpace": "Uncalibrated"}