In a Dusty Room

In a dusty room, fingers of sunlight splayed over the floor. There was a ladderback chair in the room where something-like-a-man was sitting. He was naked and his skin seemed colorless and dusty. He seemed very poised, his hands rested on his knees. He gave no indication that he intended to rise when I entered. The odd thing was that his head was giant and misshapen, like a great potato resting on the slender stalk of his neck. I couldn't make out many of his features, but his eyes, which were wide set apart, appeared to gaze ahead in a steady, focused manner. There was no pain, no suffering, no reproach, and no shame in his eyes. Occasionally he would blink. He was communicating something to me in a fashion I had never before experienced. I looked around the room and found a corn broom. I began to sweep. Though nothing changed outwardly, I felt my activity was somehow pleasing and placating the man in some important way I couldn't fathom. I don't know if I can ever stop, now.

Van Gogh Peasant Woman Sweeping.

Journal of a Place of Chipped White Paint- Sleep Paralysis

Vilhelm Hammershøi, 1901

I couldn't move when I awoke. My head seemed to be stuck in a dollhouse. I was lying on a thin mattress haphazardly arranged atop an iron bed. Everything was covered in chipped white paint. Through the narrow dollhouse window I could see another window and an indifferent white sky. One tattered panel of the curtain remained, a translucent and stained winding sheet. A porcelain head of a doll was perched atop a tangle of rope and old wire. The top of her skull was gone. Next to her was a petit four covered in white fondant reposing on a paper doily. Next to that was a miniature and perfect knife. I had come to know that by no effort could I move any part of myself. All hope was lost.


Andrew Kunz "Rope in a Glass"


Easter Petit Four by Jos Van Riswick.

White as a Cuttlefish Bone

Siren
Former collection of Robert Desnos, artist unknown

I found some day-reveries I penned some time ago. I thought I might post them, again, as an excuse to feature some very nice works of art. Also I thought I might benefit from re-reading them because I am trying hard to get back into writing out my thoughts and investigating what sort of person I am.

Number 1-

Rain had lapped up and warbled the windows. The room was obscure. In the shadow like a child secreted beneath a table, I made my thoughts to froth and foam. Holding them in my mouth, I swallowed them unspoken. As the full stain of night bloomed, I took down my drowning bag from its silver nail. I emptied its contents, warm and brackish, onto the floor. What bounty! What ruins! There, an apostle's spoon, and there, a chipped tooth nestled in a baby's shoe. Here, a mother of pearl knife handle, and there, raveled stockings. A green glass jar filled with something viscous, pungent, unknowable. An amethyst brooch. He put on one disguise after another and came nearer. He sidled up close to me and I tried to catch him tight in that sack. He broke loose and fled. I listened to the drip drip of the rainspout.



William Merritt Chase
American (1849–1916)
Still Life with Fish, date unknown
Oil on canvas
17 1/2" x 21 1/2"
The Sullivan Collection, The Peabody College Collection, Vanderbilt University Fine Arts Gallery


Anne Valayer Coster 1769
oil on canvas 130x97 cm
Louvre, Paris