ago, early one morning, I was paging through an art glossy,
perusing the plush announcements of painterly showings at
galleries whose product (per item) was initially priced more
highly than my annual room rental rate tenfold. What business
did I have lurking in this magazine?
I was at work at an architectural bookstore. My task concerned
procuring postcards to mat, frame and hang on the wall as
decoration--tenable aesthetics for the cost-conscious. I
was adept enough to turn a profit on the cheap: spending
pennies, making an effort, earning dollars.
If a customer did not want a preframed, s/he could
buy the card and (once home) wedge the image between the
frame and mirror located in the bathroom. More simply, adhere
the postcard to the refrigerator with a magnet. For other
surfaces tack, pin, tape, clip, putty...
Here's our selection. What's your preference? Here are
some options. Be creative--accessorize.
The hope was to merchandize the method of chic-collaging.
The postcards I had previously obtained were from stationary
vendors' archive catalogs. My goal was to raise the level
chicness with a more present-day presence.
My face went flush when I saw a splendid picture of two
sistahs captured in perpetuity, toddler twins
sitting stoically in portraiture, illustrating Afro-Euro
Americana--a vision and tale of generational affinity, for
me, a must have affirmation.
The twins, Utopia
are dressed in lace and frill, propped up like dolls sitting
in Shaker-esque chairs (one slightly taller than the other,
perhaps an indication of birthright). Which, Utopia or Dystopia,
is the evil--which angelic? There is sibling rivalry as
envinced by hairdo: frizzies with a sophisticatedly placed
barrette or weedy braids intricately twisted; style bohemian
I phoned the gallery owner and requested some postcards.
They're invitations, he spittered.
All the better. May I have ten? I explained
You can have one, he spattered. And let
me know how you do!
Deal done, but I never sold. Instead I vaulted the twins
(with mat and frame). Legacy locked away--all mine. However,
now I am bereft, saddened by the fact that I cannot look
at them. Besides, by now the twins have grown--and perhaps,
made a switch. Dystopia? Utopia? Could I tell them apart?
I just have this chronicle in tableau, in my mind's eye,
and now digitally in babble.