Fog hangs low over the Willamette, swallowing the tops of the bridges. Headlights slide along wet pavement. Brick, steel, timber, glass. So much of Portland still feels like a stage…
The paint smells faintly of linseed and damp plaster. A ladder leans against a raw brick wall. Somewhere outside, a bread line is shuffling forward in the cold, but inside…
A face appears from the dark backstage, half-finished. One eye circled in chalky white, the cheek streaked with vermilion, the lips only outlined. Overhead, a naked bulb hums and flickers,…
The glass is almost invisible. A pane, tilted at an angle, catching light that should not be there. Behind it, a hidden room glows. A figure appears where there was…
The paper crackles like dry leaves when you lift it. Ink has sunk into rough fibers; the photos have turned the color of weak tea. Margins are frayed where someone…
It begins as a rustle. Fabric against fabric. A cough caught in the throat. A moment where the air holds its breath. Then someone rises. A chair scrapes. Another body…