I’m on deadline this week, crashing out a book review/essay for my friends at Mother Jones. Posting will be irregular, if at all, but this does not stop our work from going forward.
The above image (clicks it to makes it largers) is courtesy of artist Kenneth Tin-Kin Hung. I have more to say about his awesomeness later, but for now I thought it would be fun to use this super-charged image as a writing prompt.
I’m interested in openings, endings, scenes, snatches of dialogue, description, whatever. Embrace the image or reject it. Be literal. Be figurative. And if you’re feeling shy about the awesome fruits of your awesome labors, feel free to post anonymously. You cannot fail.
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Right before the universe collapsed upon them and extinguished their existence, he turned to his wife and said, “See? I told you so.”
Waxman didn’t know what was in that capsule, but he knew he didn’t want another.
Gentlemen! Short and sweet. Very nice. Anyone care to go long?
The docent heard exactly what the old man said, but asked him to repeat it, to kill a few more seconds.
“I said I don’t even know what I’m looking at. What the hell is this?”
The docent paused, smoothing the front of her skirt. She stared at the pale beige epaulettes on the man’s jacket.
“It’s a commercial illustration. Album artwork.”
“Jesus Christ. I mean, what is it supposed to be?”
“It’s open to interpretation. What does it say to you?”
“Not a goddamned thing. I see a snake. And a bunch of other crap.”
The docent wondered when the other two gentlemen, the quieter gentlemen, had wandered away from the tour. On these “free first Mondays,” her volunteer status prickled more than usual.
“It certainly is chaotic, isn’t it?”
“Do you always talk like this?” The man stared at her and wrinkled his brow.
“Like what?”
“Never mind. Just tell me what you get out of it.”
“Some people enjoy its visual whimsy. I’m not sure there is a correct answer.”
“Some people.” He made a pffft sound. “I want to know what you think.”
The docent turned to the illustration and smiled. She paused again.
“I enjoy the way the piece simultaneously conveys joy and dread.”
“The piece! You’re something else.”
The docent continued. “It commands my attention. It makes me think about all of its possible meanings. I see it as a complicated statement about how life is strange and wonderful and terrifying.”
“Like I need to be reminded. What garbage.”
She inhaled through her nose. “Don’t you think life can be strange? Or terrifying?”
The man cocked his head. “You really want to know?”
“Absolutely.”
“Ever seen a bunch of little kids with all their hair and skin burned off?”
She licked her lips. “No.”
“It’s pretty goddamn terrifying.”
“How did…” Another pause, even slower now than before. “When did…”
“In the war. Just outside London. A plane crashed into a schoolhouse. Wasn’t even one of theirs. The plane, I mean. One of ours.”
The docent turned back toward the illustration. She saw the snake coming out of its hookah, jellyfish floating up into outer space, cowboy boots fashioned from cacti, a jeweled skull wearing a soccer jersey and a parachute.
“I see. That’s… awful.”
“Sorry to ruin your day.” The man chuckled. “I like art that makes me feel good, is all.”
She turned back to him. “I understand.” She noticed the military wings on his baseball cap. “I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
“Derwood.”
“Derwood. That’s an interesting name.”
“If you say so.” He looked past her to the illustration one more time, then checked his watch. “Jeez, I need to go. Miss my shuttle.”
“OK, Derwood. See you next month.”
“Not if I see you first.” He winked and walked off toward the lobby.