Stuart Estell is a poet and musician. His style is, well, something I hesitate to define because it doesn’t really fit any categories I know well. Sort of minimalist, sort of modernist, but all Stuart’s own. Like much contemporary poetry and music, Stuart’s derives its strength from the way our head inhabits the spaces he leaves as much as from the words and notes he gives us. Unlike so many of his peers, his work has a visceral emotional punch. Those spaces, emptinesses on the page, are doorways onto very dark places. We pause at the places he invites us to pause at our peril, because, unlike the nursery rhymes about the cracks in the pavement, if we wait too long the monsters really will find us.
Untitled (I Have the Horrors)