Edith wants to be bathed in light. To be chosen, to be elected, to be one of them: the on screen stars. To be or not to be?
Read MoreShe looked and saw his canvas covered in murky patterns. The pond, he said, for atmosphere, the criss-cross of light. I see, she said, but she did not…
Read MoreEdith Cull was finding the pencil a less critical an implement than her pen. For one thing she could rub things out or smudge them if they began glaring back at her…
Read MoreThe character of Edith has grown from the glimpses of women I saw as a child: women living alone, often remotely, and scuttling around like peculiar insects…
Read MoreWithdrawal can be exquisite, that time spent behind the arras with the curtain blowing over shading your sight. Embroidered patterns flutter across the mind’s eye drawing out the shapes…
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