WK6 – Artist Conversation (Story) -Amy E Williams



“Untitled”, Artist: Amy Williams, Porcelain and Fiber, Dimensions: all the Dutzi Gallery

A Tale for the Dead and the About-to-be-Borns
a story by Jacob Siciliano

I take a heavy breath in. My eyes open.

It is dark. I thrust my hands to my side. I grasp at cotton sheets. It still feels like the bed I was in the night before.

“But why is it so dark?” I think to myself.

I feel around. My fingers touch a metallic coldness. It’s a lighter, my lighter, I presume.

I flick it open. The zippo’s “Clink!” is somehow comforting. After a few strikes, it ignites.

The light it produced was minimal at best, but it at least let me see the outlines of a room so foreign to anything I have ever seen.

Clumps of strings dangle from the sky, each with little objects tied to their ends.

I move the lighter closer to the ground. It looks solid, but strangely pinkish.

I let my shoeless feet hang from my bed as I try to get footing on this new ground.

My bare foot touches what seems to be another human’s skin. Maybe not exactly skin, but it did feel organic.

With both feet, I stand. The floor has the consistency of day old jello.

I almost fall as it slightly jiggles to the newly added weight.

It’s hard to walk, but I somehow make it to one of these rope danglers.

My fingers caress the hanging clumps. The rope itself is not rope, but rather feels the same as the floor, but this time with a strange dampness.

Each strand holds something porcelain, something unique, but nevertheless porcelain. Abstract mugs, I like to call them, because this is precisely what they look like.

My eagerness to explore faded. I was now rather annoyed to be in such a strange place as this.

I tried to run, in any direction, but failed. I feel on my face, but the floor caught my fall.

It reverberated. I decide sit.

It all felt like a womb, or at least what I thought a womb would feel like.

“Was I being born again?”

“Did I actually die last night, and now this is some sick twisted trial to get into heaven (or hell)?”

“Is this purgatory?”

I didn’t know, so I sat. I counted the seconds. Time became endless.

I was stuck. No way out.

This is my end. A womb for my coffin. I’d always wanted to be cremated.

That gave me an idea, a sick twisted idea. I still had my lighter. 

I let the flame linger until it caught on my shirt and slowly engulfed the rest of my body in flames.

I felt no pain, just numbness.

Some candles burn bright, while others fade away.

And there I was, burning bright.

I had finally found my exit.



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