In that place there is for knowing he knew he was not yet a man, but he didn’t feel it. He could recite enough life for twenty lifetimes and he knew where the exits were in the dark. Every Wednesday at 7pm she came. And every Wednesday at 7:05 she bought a small popcorn and a large soda. It didn’t matter that she looked right through him. It didn’t matter that she didn’t notice him noticing. It just didn’t matter. In that place there is for knowing he knew it was just a matter of time. And he was patient.
Jennifer Garza-Cuen – MFA Photo 2011
I would open the door as a child, covertly tracing my fingers over that wallpaper. It seemed sun-bleached in the gloom though it had never seen bright afternoon sun, a chinoiserie. White-gold parrots with wings open, shot, caught in the moment of instant lifelessness before the free fall. I buried my face in the fur coat, the lone item in that tiny forgotten space, and breathed in a scent I imagined was what all glamorous ladies wore to the ballet.
Lauren Allegrezza – BFA Painting 2014