The King of Infinite Space by Lyndsay Faye

Author:Lyndsay Faye [Faye, Lyndsay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2021-08-10T00:00:00+00:00

LIA

The only single women widows now or brides

Half married to the breeze. We lie to stay together.

We lie to make do. . . .

—Terrance Hayes, “American Sonnet for My Past and Future Assassin”

Lia feels sluggish, dusty. So out of practice that she’s dirtying her own paper. Leaving finger smudges in thick grey smears.

This new piece (she pictures a performative installation, her real body tangled up in the tree with the demon looming over her) is stuck in the sketch phase. How did she progress beyond that before she was this corroded hull of an artist? How were her dreams assembled into floral wire and fabric and fresh cuttings?

She needs to explore her own darkest artistic period. Excavate the tomb.

The previous afternoon bloomed beautifully. She learned about the powers of waters from various sources (ocean, rain, river). Maw-maw showed her how to infuse homemade candles to attract creativity (patchouli, yarrow, lemon verbena). But her true assignment was sketching Jessica Kowalski’s bouquet after determining with Moma its exact composition. While serving everyone vanilla-scented coffee, Mam’zelle announced that they’d deliver their product to a particularly swank Financial District event space at a fete Jessica and her dick ex were both attending. It was crucial that Jessica give the “apology” bouquet to Jeremy herself, in public, she reiterated.

That sounded melodramatic to Lia, but she coaxed blooms and grasses from the page with colored pencil anyhow. Pretending that she believed magical floral arrangements were perfectly normal—not to mention real. She wasn’t sure anymore. She didn’t even know whether or not she cared, it all suited her so perfectly, like finding a lamp-lit candy cottage in the midst of a devouring forest.

When she presented her finished rendering, all three sisters applauded, and Lia felt her face light up like a hearth fire.

Today, Lia sits in her snug chamber on the third floor of the flower shop sifting through her files. Her room is ghostly ivory under the thick chair rail, sporting wallpaper with golden trellises above. Straight out of Oscar Wilde’s interior design magazines. The air conditioner rattles encouragement. There’s barely room to sleep—just a bed and a glass table and one skinny dresser, with space to scooch between the bed and the wall. It ought to feel claustrophobic. But it’s like a nest or maybe even a womb.

An overstuffed black portfolio rests on the coverlet. Lia settles against the wall and unzips.

“What the fuck?” she exclaims.

She hasn’t opened this in the two years she’s been here, but Lia knows the exact chronology of her installations and stores them accordingly.

They are severely disordered, not to say completely gone to shit. She meant to study her Elegy for a Life Lost project, which coincided weirdly with her engagement, because something about the new piece reminds her of that show. The one that was held in the biggest gallery yet, when she was twenty-six. But the Elegy pictures are scattered among photos of wisteria waterfalls and an airplane made of lilies. It’s like some kind of morbid infection.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.