Imaginary Still Life No. 1

I close my eyes. I see deep blue, but choppy. It starts to move, and transforms into the ocean. The daunting kind, not clear and welcoming. A beige, oval rock, twice the size of a human man appears and disappears as the waves wash on and off. 

 

Imaginary Still Life No. 2

I close my eyes. The kitchen table is set. White tablecloth embroidered with mint green leaves. Two teal candlesticks stand on the right corner of the tabletop. Two light blue plates. Two silver forks. Two silver knives, and four transparent green glasses.

 

Imaginary Still Life No. 3

I close my eyes. My father’s dark blue 1960s convertible Mercedes 280 SE is parked in the garage.

 

Imaginary Still Life No. 4

I close my eyes. I see black, which become white and then a strange, almost powerful mix of both. A little yellow appears. Perhaps because I am sitting in front of a window through which shines cold winter light. 

 

Imaginary Still Life No. 5

I close my eyes. Shakespeare’s head, and then a version of him with arms full of multicolored tattoos. My brain processed too much Shakespeare theory yesterday for class. Around 80 pages to be precise.
 

Imaginary Still Life No. 6

I close my eyes. My mother and father aged, I just don’t know when. They sit across from me at my father’s desk, both wearing glasses. Both pairs are round, though my father’s are black and my mother’s clear. Books and photos and small paintings crowd the moss green shelves behind them. I remember when nothing filled those shelves. 

 

Imaginary Still Life No. 7

I close my eyes. I just see black. Is my creativity escaping me? I try again. Nothing. 

 

Imaginary Still Life No. 8

I close my eyes. A falcon stares at me from the other side of the window. Small head, sharp, dark brown eyes, yellow beak, small but innumerable brown, grey and white feathers. He is perched on the window ledge, 15 floors above ground on a New York City building. I see scratches on the window from his past visits. 

 

Imaginary Still Life No. 9

I close my eyes and exhale after a long, intentional inhale. The stress pumping through my body prevents me from seeing anything. Isolated for three days, seven to go.

 

Imaginary Still Life No. 10

I close my eyes. What I imagine Irish beaches to look like: mixed green pastures and grassland, cliffs looking onto a turbulent ocean, beachside full of tall, beige grass.