July 5, 2012 § 1 Comment
I was becoming emotionally entangled in the comings and goings of Midwestern farm-dwellers and dark-age saints who had long since passed from this world. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep the voices and the faces of the photos straight. I saw them in a jumbled mass in my dreams. And lately, ever since I had talked with Alice in her funereal photo, I heard faint talking, arguing, laughing, whispering coming from the heap–heaps–that cluttered my studio. Maybe she was teaching the other photos to converse with each other.
“I can’t work! This is too distracting,” I said out loud, “not to mention unsettling.”
The noises stopped immediately.
I resumed work at my desk, but the sudden silence was more distracting than the whispers had been. After ten minutes of trying to concentrate on a painting of a man wearing a swimming cap and goggles, I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. I jumped off my chair and grabbed the first photo I came to.