Huddleston & Christmass – Feb. 11
Mary Huddleston and Shane Jesse Christmass exchanged art and writing. Mary gave Shane this painting, “Rehoboth in Early Spring”:
Shane wrote this in response:
At The End of the Pier
…Ah oh boy, forget that story, that one I was just in the middle of, it’s not important, this one is better, believe me, this one’s about a pier, a pier I go to every weekend. I peddle down to it, to check out what’s happening, scoop in low, y’know it’s a boardwalk, got some shops out the end of it.
That boardwalk, what miseries, ramshackle and rusted metal, water-sopped wood, sea spray, yellow-flaked newspapers, well-worn headlines, osprey, seagull… How does one arrive at such places? There are a lot, a lot of creeps who lived around there. It smells like smooth rhodium or turpentine, but this time I’m gonna tell you about, m shirt didn’t smell like turpentine, it was steamed-in with the smell of vinegar from the shop.
This is all true, a true story. The wind raked the autumn leaves down the footpath, that kinda thing. I thought, “What hour is this? Midday? Don’t be too concerned by all that. You’ve been given enough hours in your life already.” Seriously that’s the kinda of stuff I thought. But back to this, are you listening? I caught my reflection in the shopfront y‘hear. Now at that time of my life, my reflection was an expression that dissolved into what I overheard, y’know fog-lamped ships and all that.
* * * *
Shane shared this story with Mary:
The Flood
Audette took a bite out of the hamburger, placed it on top of a stack of magazines on the
bedside drawer. He laid his head down to doze knowing all the wars wouldn’t end
tonight. His flat was stuffy so he’d wedged open the window. A wind walked through.
As he lay there something filtered down across the centuries like it was a killer of
illumination. Audette felt afraid for his life. He knew there was nothing shriller than
being afraid.
He lay on his left side, lying on top of his left arm. He put his right fist under his chin. He
nestled it there tight. The world conjured like a fake. Audette then knew they’d placed
baubles where his eyes use to be.
Audette started to crack off into slumber. His body became drowsy, pliable like plant-life.
Suddenly the corners of the bed shook, Audette snapped from sleep. He was holding
something in his right fist, nuzzled up tight under his chin. It was a pistol, a tightly-coiled
pistol that was ready to go off at the first tremor.
In response, Mary made this painting, “Dreamscape”:
