Vision Imagination Dream and Memory

by Cait Stuff, based on The War Between Heaven and Hell Wallpaper by Jeffrey Ford.

Mixed media painting (8×10) of acrylics, ink, collage, tracing paper, magnets, label stickers

This piece will be auctioned off to benefit the Interstitial Arts Foundation at iafauctions.com


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    IAFAuctions.com is part of the fundraising arm of the Interstitial Arts Foundation, a not–for–profit organization dedicated to the study, support, and promotion of interstitial art.

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    A Taste of Interfictions 2
    • “My father's oldest brother was at the age when little boys fall in love with war. In the family's rush to get downstairs, no one noticed that he had brought his favorite hat into the basement, the one that superficially resembled the square czapka with the scarlet band of the Zandarmeria, the Polish Military Police. When the gun shots, the screams, and the smoke had cleared, the Germans discovered that their fugitive Polish soldier was just a ten year old boy.”
      From: Count Poniatowski and the Beautiful Chicken by Elizabeth Ziemska
    • “October evening, 1969. Golden leaves spiral down. Johnny tries to catch one. His fingers touch the whisper of leaf but close on air. It doesn’t matter. He spins across the yard, dodging gold bullets. He’s hit! He’s hit! He falls to the ground, rolling in leaf, grass, sticks and dirt. In the distance, a dog barks. The boy lies still, arms spread, legs at odd angles. Dead. He is dead when the car pulls up in front of his house. Heart beating wild from all his spinning, he is dead, trying to still his breath when the doors slam shut and shoes click up the sidewalk, dead when a man’s voice says, “Mrs. Harlyle?” dead when his mother screams, a siren-sound that falls to the ground like leaves. The boy is dead when he opens his eyes, looks at the sky, darkly now. Dead as he lays there, waiting for God, angel, or ghost. Dead as one leaf spiral-lands on his cheek.”
      From: The Beautiful Feast by M. Rickert
    • “The news is getting everything wrong. Her name was Verona, and not Veronica. She was not a teenager, and would not have been flattered to be mistaken for one. She was not an edgy performance artist. She painted. She also sculpted.

      The news is implying that her boyfriend is sketchy. They always imply that the boyfriend, or husband, is sketchy. I'm angry on his behalf. I am also angry because this basic, default assumption usually turns out to be right. Part of the logic behind it is that someone has to care about you very deeply if they are going to bother beating you to death with "multiple instruments."”
      From: After Verona by William Alexander
    • “I wonder why I still write you. After all, tomorrow you will disappear, yesterday you disappeared. Nothing changes, and everything is in flux on this island that shrinks, that swells… Do you know how hard it is to lead an infinity of lives all at once? I say an infinity, when really, it's just a great many lives in which I remain essentially the same. I have unendingly committed these words to paper and I have never done so. I am young and old, the wife who loves and deceives, the hieratic figure.

      But above all, I am weary.”
      From: L'Ile Close by Lionel Davoust

    Click here for another excerpt