Irregular palettes of colour – stung yellow, mustard brown, buried shades of – off white, umber lining scabrous to the soft fingers of a child who traces its exterior as he learns to walk in a kitchen. It is as if the brick moves through him or we through the brick. The house moves in registers of light, a family re writing their place. Far away – another house rehearses ghost time – neither here nor as yet, a presence spilled, as it interprets the seasons of snow spoken winters, spring shadowed with unsent letters, summers abated from fever. You bury yourself deeper in a bed. The bluster of blue. You bury yourself deeper in the house, listen to the tucking of wind, until the house is empty of you – brick covered by fresh cheap paint, stories cloaked in the notebook of clay and shale, in the irregular palettes of colour, stung yellow, mustard brown, buried shades of – off white.

STUDZINSKA (words) BULLOCK (art)