Archive > Vol. X no. Z

Rosalind Hudis

Diorama

Bell-jar, crinoline, chicanery glass where stuffed fox or hawk, a fleshy coral display the pose of the pause before they could swoop bite, swell — now décor. We are directed to the taxidermist’s drawer his scalpel blades to scoop out an eye, his tongue-depressor. A porn of cute, these jerkined rabbits wired to their tea-cups, ape the hour’s pleasantry which will occur within borders, coiffured, contorted, box-wood boxed into the spectre of a wild tree. Blindness is an atmosphere: inside this case an eyeless goddess, veined a mask a weasel her stiff-dried teats. The shape of air between them thrums with dust.