This work is part of a series of 35 text and image pairs, 20 of which showed at Blindfold Gallery with an audio installation earlier this year. Ten of the pairs, including the four showed here, appeared at the City Arts Art Walk Awards, where they took home first prize on April 3. Atkinson wrote the text that accompanies Duffus’ oil on mylar paintings.

In those days all our kitchens and bedrooms were the same and we used our counters and our beds interchangeably. Like the nearest full moon or an extra full moon or the moon that eclipses the sun or fire rainbows occurring only when the sun shines through the ice in a cirrus cloud from more than 58 degrees up or sundogs interrupting Descartes, in a strange adherence to the food triangle, we have these sweetest things rarely, like may flies and day lilies also, you and me on the counter or bed for just one moment, and they feel so meaningful.


All the pushing we did together, just to be grass. And then I didn’t want to grow my greenness next to yours anymore. No I said no, and changed fields, and you think now that I am something better than grass. O my mountain flower: no. Our lawns are crossed here just the same.


In the place where we were teenagers, if your house was in town, then your kitchen was a dark place in the back of the house. In the place where we were married, the kitchen was in front—and still we ended up like our parents.


You gave me a liver or a kidney. I can’t remember, but whichever it was, it was a really nice one and I wasted it. I just keep thinking that if I had just stayed put. It was so deep red and it came from so deep inside and you put it in my hand and if I had just stayed put.