The exhibition opens Thursday the 19th of February from 6-8 pm

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Echoes of returning dreams
Sculpted during daytime
Carving them from and back
While lingering in my mind

Shaping dreams from the rocks
Making my riverbed of Styx
These ornaments are jutting
In time it will state my crux

Inspiration of nectar and ambrosia
May vapour as a fashionable whim
And as a fragment of Heraclitus says: Twice
You cannot in the same river swim

The oaths I swore are slouching
Sometimes I don’t remember a thing
I continue carving this river
Or else it might dreadfully sting

There is nothing that ain’t in flux
Try to make the world appear still
Aesthetics in gradual transformation
Spirals grinding down by a cosmic will

Even though your thoughts are sore
After days and nights meandering
Join the solar barque of Ra tonight
Changing shape as dark descending

Protected by the serpent´s lofty coil
When sailing the light and dark
Tunnels of twilight in equilibrium
There is no need for a Luna Park

On the edge of a psychedelic nightmare
The smell of Christian blood
Glyphs on the ground to decipher
The claw punching a hole, I am brood

The Rotunda of Martyrs is a carousel
Depicting executions for capital sin
Crucifixions staking out the Appian Way
Eternal city Godheads dizzily spin

St Cathrine by her breaking wheel
Paintings of torture and bodily gore
Disfigured between tons of stone
Beheading when you are no more

Night and day I’ve been searching
Mercurii Fons in the ides of May
Under Claudius´ temple, carved out night
Sprinkling water in the park at day

In memory of the phalanx work
Electric sheep at the door
Life’s becoming a rock´n´roll scroll
Legacy are cracks in the floor

Sausages and a pack of nuts
Is a troll a devil too?
Dis Manibus inscription
Vortex glaring from the loo

Tripods over quadrupeds
When the ground uneven
Its content is an offering
To Dionysos it is given

We have it all in common
C’mon, just look at the form
It takes flight in the nighttime
And awake it is in dorm

From a bacchanal afterimage
Your Thyrsus is raised high
You fought a bottle, within the djinn
But it’s not your time to die

The Becoming of Relics

- Marius Engh