call to artists::one

So, as promised, this is where things begin. I made the request last week and have gotten some great responses. This first image was given, courtesy of Joseph Owens.

So this is the first one, and the rest are on their way, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use more! Some of the ones that follow will be more serial in nature, using several images to tell a story.

But, yes, without going on too much, I might as well just show what I’m doing with your images. ¬†Example one:


And now you’re only ash. Dust.

You’ve been dead. A long time. So long I had to rebuild you. One word at a time. Weaving the words into sentences, the sentences into paragraphs, and the paragraphs into a life.

Yours. You became an origamied bird, dyed white and black, flightless and full of love. I wrote you to life then carried you with me for years, sitting in grass, burning in sun, melting in rain. The pages that held you pulped and bled, so I dried them, rewrote it all, this time again from memory.

But the memory changed. I wrote you again but the you I held was different. I held you in my hands, a different weight, a new taste in my mouth at the reading of lines.

You changed, and it was me. I changed you, but I held you close all the same, and years gathered and piled and I forgot. I forgot this you wasn’t the original you, or even the first imagining of you. The words I wrapped your body in took hold of me and filled me. Deep inside, you flooded me and I became old, greyed, cowed, bent but unbroken, because of these words. Because of you. I aged but you stayed always the same, every word memorised, so I knew I could remake you again, this time perfectly. This time, I’d make you age with me. The years we spent together would no longer be reminiscences of dreamt pasts, but real and new and swelling with the future we run toward.

And so I set you to blaze. I burnt you alive to live these final twilit days with you.