“My Mind Will Never Be” by Art Rosenbaum (artrosenbaum.org)

Hinged

by Emily Brown

In college I had a creative writing professor who challenged us to write about art — to imagine ourselves in the narrative of a canvas. Ever since Dr. Judith Cofer challenged us as writers to dig for rhythms, figures of speech and language in strokes of color, I have never looked at art the same way: each piece of art is now a trove of stories for me.

Dr. Cofer changed my perspective about a lot of things in life, and it often started by introducing me to someone or something I had not known before. Dr. Cofer introduced me to Art Rosenbaum, an Athens, Ga., based artist whose art, like Sharon’s, easily lends itself to the roots of a story. Their style is strikingly different, but they both capture snapshots of everyday life, translating words with vivid strokes of color. Art’s style lends more to folk visions and voices, but both he and Sharon have a gift for making art an open ended conversation.

Here is, “Hinged,” a story that I have written about Art Rosenbaum’s piece, “My Mind Will Never Be.” (See image of painting above).

diptych [dip-tik]:

1. a hinged two leaved tablet

2. a tablet of wood or metal containing on one leaf the names of those among the living, and on the other those among the dead, for whom prayers and Masses are said.

The wisps of grass are soft and smooth, tickling her feet. She knows no other sweetness than Southern comforts: tomato aspic, gravel roads, fiddle drones and pink calla lilies.

When she feels the shiny lacquer of the wooden floors, she begins to feel something inside her change.  The blades of grass become tendrils, lifeless ringlets twining her body.

Don’t slam the door, Papa always says. But she hates the creaking of the door hinges.

Her eyelids crease with tiny folds of uncertainty. She looks up, pining for even the smallest shard of freedom in a mosaic of streaming light.

Although she might regret the choice, she steps onward, remembering His words: peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.

She hates the creaking of the door hinges.