Arlene Ang

Always this cheap red. This attachment to foreign matter—the bullet as it becomes indispensable to the existence of bone. How it feels to live with the gunshot that killed a mother before tunneling through a lung to rest snugly in your shoulder. And so the object goes in hiding. Once it threw a hairbrush at the bathroom mirror to encrypt parts of its identity into the shards. It has learned to keep its shoes while washing. The tub drinks the object like a body of water, the legs form parallel poles that dangle from the side. There is much to be suppressed here. There is the sound of sipping through a straw, a drain. It is calling someone for company. It hangs up after the first ring. Then the object is silent. The shirt falls open at the neck like gutted fish.


after James Castle







This piece is an indirect result of the James Castle exhibit in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, my morbid interest in objectifying anything with a heartbeat, and a weekly consumption of fegato alla veneziana prepared by my husband.