Valentines

by Kythryne Aisling, based on Valentines by Shira Lipkin.

Choker-style necklace in silver wire with glass, Swarovski crystal, and metal beads, with a glass bottle containing fragments of the story recorded in multiple mediums.

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
    • “There's a red, ripe moon, like a berry, in the sky. Blood moon they call it, berry moon, I say. Juicy and full, that fat piece of fruit, makes me want to swallow it whole. A pearl of heaven's own blood in my mouth, and then... The sky surrounding my glossy morsel is brimming with purple champagne, foaming with stars. I wait for them to fall down and cover me in shimmering dust. Will it crackle and hiss when it touches my skin? Will it burn? Taste perhaps like ice and water, vanilla and nuts, when I lick it off my hands? It is my duty, you know, to eat it all up. "Greedy", you may say, but then, you still love me...”
      From: Berry Moon by Camilla Bruce
    • “It had been forty-six years since Dunbar had visited the moon. He stood in his bathrobe at the scenic window taking in the view. The black sky, the craters, the landscape were exactly as he remembered.
      He cursed.

      Dunbar remembered many things from his past. He remembered his first telephone number. The number of steps from his front door to the playground two blocks over. The exact color of his shirt when he graduated from 6th grade. The words to the poem "Kubla Khan." The way the first car he owned had to be finessed when he shifted from first to third.

      He had come here to study memory so that he could learn how to forget.”
      From: The Long And Short Of Long Term Memory by Cecil Castellucci
    • “Work dried up after the crash. My magazine folded, and the creditors came around demanding the office furniture and telephone and rent. They got one chair, a cancelled stamp, and a hundred and twelve copies of the second edition of Honeypot which didn't sell as well as the first. "And why should it?" Betsy asked. "Nobody's into poetry. Especially in the language of bees. They could be saying anything."”
      From: For the Love of Carrots by Kelly J. Cogswell
    • “She paid admission. Then they walked the direction all visitors had to go, through the museum and toward doors leading out to the historic village. With its coke machine just inside the entrance, the museum seemed a harmless, well-regulated place, comforting and normal. Yet the discontent he had noticed when his feet hit the gravelly parking lot, out by the split-rail fence, still held on and was with him yet as they walked out the back door.

      He could control it even so: a trifling weight he would shrug off, somewhere, if only he could find the right place.”
      From: Stonefield by Mark Rich

    Click here for another excerpt