The Tale Tellers – Rose Van Mierlo

SqW:Lab fellows were invited to interpret their favourite story, song or poem via a series of images that represent key plot points within that story for an ongoing project by Charlie Levine called The Tale Tellers.

Each selection of images tells a complete tale.

A Natural Disaster – Lydia Davis

  1. In our home here by the rising sea we will not last much longer.

[no title] 1999 by Roni Horn born 1955

2. The cold and damp will certainly get us in the end, because it is no longer possible to leave: the cold has cracked open the only road away from here, the sea has risen and filled the cracks down by the marsh where it is low, has sunk and left salt crystals lining the cracks, has risen again higher and made the road impassible.

tara donovan

3. The sea washes up through the pipes into our basins, and our drinking water is brackish.

francesca woodman, 'my house, providence, rhode island', 1976, ingleby

4. Mollusks have appeared in our front yard and our garden and we can’t walk without crushing their shells with every step.

louise bourgeois. les mullesques (mollusks), state iii. (c. 1948)

5. […] Now we have moved into the upper rooms of the house and at the window watching the fish flash through the branches of our peach tree. […]

[mechanic's rock, low water]; henry p. bosse (american, 1844 - 1903); 1889; cyanotype; 26.5 × 33.2 cm (10 7:16 × 13 1:16 in.); 2002.32.4; j. p

6. What we wash and hang out the upstairs window to dry freezes: our shirts and pants make strange writhing shapes on the line.

ana mendieta

7. […] Much of the day, now, we stay in bed under heavy , sour blankets; the wooden walls are wet through; the sea enters the cracks at the windowsills and trickles down to the floor.

nan goldin (united states, born born 1953),empty beds, boston, silver-dye bleach print, 24 x 36 inches. private collection, houston, tx. © nan goldin, courtesy o

8. There are three left, and we are all weak, can’t sleep but lightly, can’t think but with confusion, don’t speak, and hardly see light and dark anymore, only dimness and shadow.

nan goldin the ballad of sexual dependency




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