Visual Fiction or The Metamorphosis of Vision

by Ilene Winn-Lederer, based on Valentines by Shira Lipkin.

11 x 14" gicleé print on Stonehenge substrate, unframed/float mounted on museum board.

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

Tags: interfictions2auction, interstitialartsfoundation, interfictions
Uploaded: October 18, 2009
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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.

    IAF Photostream
    Valentines Heidi Gilded Cage The Child Empress of Mars Carisa Swenson - The Animometer The Child Empress of Mars Inwood Hill by K Tempest Bradford The Wildness Inside Lily, Surrounded By Rats by Helen Pilinovsky [redacted] (series of 4)
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    A Taste of Interfictions 2
    • “In the month of Ind, when the flowers of the Jindal trees were in blossom and just beginning to scatter their petals on the ground like crimson rain, a messenger came to the court of the Child-Empress. He announced that a Hero had awakened in the valley of Jar.

      The messenger was young and obviously nervous, at court for the first time, but when the Child-Empress said, "A Hero? What is his name?" he replied with a steady voice. "Highest blossom of the Jindal tree, his name is not yet known. He has not spoken it, for he has as yet seen no one to whom he could speak."”
      From: Child-Empress of Mars by Theodora Goss
    • “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
    • “I was dead, now I'm alive. That's the first thing you need to know. We'll come back to that later. The second thing you need to know is there are no metaphors in this story. Everything is true. If there's a third thing, and usually there is, it would be that I love lists probably more than I should.”
      From: Some Things About Love, Magic, and Hair by Chris Kammerud
    • “Information is sacred. I don't remember why, or who told me. But I know that information is sacred, so I write it down, scraps of knowledge and observations. I used to write in leather-bound journals with elegant heavy pens, but my fetish for elegance has fallen by the wayside in my rush to commit everything to paper. Now I use cheap marbled composition books, purchased by the dozen. The pen is still important, though. It must write in smooth lines of black, not catch on the page. There is too much to capture.”
      From: Valentines by Shira Lipkin

    Click here for another excerpt

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