![]() They ran past me, grinning mouths full of teeth. It flew through the air behind me and the dogs barked happily and took off after it. The dogs just stood, tails wagging, looking expectant, and after a moment the guy shrugged, picked up a stick and threw it. As I watched, two dogs bounded up, looked like those black ones, labs? that seem to laugh at people. He said something, she turned and kissed him, laughing. A young couple was walking along the edge of the trees, holding hands. I slowed my pace as I came to the edge of the park, admiring the colors. The grass was green, the poplars were every shade of yellow, gold and bronze in the low sun, and the sharp smell of their leaves flushed the formalin out of my sinuses. The sun was sinking into the lake and families were packing up their picnics to go home when I reached the park, parents closing the coolers and kids dragging their baseball bats back to the cars. ![]() By the time I’d finished all I could smell was fish and formalin, so I decided to walk home the long way, through the park to get some fresh air, or I’d have to skip dinner. I had to go in on Saturday to ink the last drawing. I’d been working flat out all week to make a deadline, drawing fish, all staring eyes and spines and flabby grey flesh. I think that if they see something truly strange, completely beyond their experience, their brains edit that, too, substituting something that makes more sense in the world they know. Most people don’t often see what’s really there, you know, or rather they see it, but their brains edit the information, filling in any gaps with what experience has shown them in the past. I was comfortable in my office, or other people’s labs, observing, translating color, texture, light and shadow into shades of black on white. I suppose the students never think about where the drawings come from, and other people would be horrified if they thought about it, the nice, clean black and white as red and blue and purple, and the smell - but I liked it. I spent my days in a small office drawing whatever was put in front of me: bones, fossils. I never wondered what I would do for a living, just honed my skills in college, and walked straight into a job as a technical illustrator for a publisher producing academic textbooks. I really can’t remember learning to draw, to see things with my eyes and to put them on paper so others could see them too. I’m almost certain you won’t believe it - I wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t seen it - but if I tell you the way it started you might believe it enough to keep reading. ![]() I suppose I’d better begin at the beginning, because it’s a strange story. And now I need to tell someone else who can remember, or at least make sure that the information isn’t lost. That last bit’s not so good, is it? I used to read a lot of fiction, horror and stuff like that, and in those books the protagonist often says “I can’t remember when I first realized.” but this one won’t. How to write a letter asking someone I’ve never met to read something they won’t believe. I hope you think that’s a good opening line, because I’ve thought about it a lot. Thomas Pepper 1523 South Dupont Avenue Minneapolis 55403 12 July, 2003 Dear Mr Cosgrove, I have some information I think might interest you.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |