14
Lisa Maione

Floor

24

The floor looked like a field of expired chocolate bar that had melted and recongealed, at least once, in the glove compartment of a car. Fragments, chunks, textures in evidence of some earnest adhesive craftsmanship. Fragments hang onto each other and onto the wetness from the rain. Curled up with moisture, each reveals the one thing wood doesn’t handle well. The water overtook the floors. The water broke apart the floor.

34
44