Gracia Haby & Louise Jennison
Twins, collaged and drawn, down to the last stripe on their tail tips or hooked nip on their talons. Covered with wild hair and shiny feathers, two things of the same appearance and size. Placed together they form a twosome, equal in origin. Yoked puzzle pieces of a whole, reconfiguring their second home, erasing the mistakes of the first. In pencil, they correct the lines. This looks right. This looks closer to natural.
Or is it the other way around? Is it the pencilled form who follows the collaged to a new island fashioned from a discarded carte de visite. To a manmade world cut by scissors and buried beneath heavy drapery.
Whichever came first, Salvaged Relatives either way. Matched and inseparable, like,
a pair of straight lines
a pair of intersecting planes
a pair of adjacent complimentary angles
a pair of aces — lucky that
a pair of ragged claws
a pair of plums, pants, wings, and odd ducks
a pair of (honeybee) scissors
a pair of brown eyes
a pair of brown eyes lyrics
a pair of silk stockings
a pair of glasses
a pair of star-cross’d lovers
a pair of scissors is what kind of machine
a pair of shoes — here’s to you, Vincent van Gogh
(Courtesy of Google’s drop down search poetry on a spring afternoon)
Here, there, always together. Whether paired human and animal, front and back, collage and drawing, or collage and print: a perfect pair.