Fucking Rome. We got to the hotel and she cried.
It was meant to be a four-poster bed, not a four-poled bed. It was meant to be a terrace not the top step an iron staircase. It was meant to my swansong, the trip to show her what she going to fucking miss out on: the thing to remember me by. I wanted her to feel soaked in guilt when the final blow was delivered.
“Hey, come on, it’s not so bad. Let’s go out and grab some food, start looking at the city”
The sobs went from a 6 to a 9. Wails grew and smashed into me, wave after wave.
“Come on. Let’s go. Now please”
My tone had lost it’s grace and just robotically pressed.
The scrunched face emerged, drained with deep black holes for eyes, and we traipsed into silence into the city. My mind flicked through the situation, questioning all reason.
Her birthday, I wanted to impress so I took her away – how could I possibly be in the wrong?
I knew I felt warped and knotted. I flicked off topic and watched the people passing in the street. They all seemed so beautifully ignorant to unhappiness. I tried to add context: where was he off to? What did she do for a living? What does he think when he wakes up in the morning?
“tell me what you’re thinking”
She looked up at me with watery pupils. For a split second I felt for her, then firmly shut that inkling out.
‘well we can’t go on like this’
We walked over a bridge – it was brimming with life. Food, flowers, painters, water. Beautiful when I removed myself from the presence.
There was a warming delicateness to the city’s atmosphere, an over-whelming sensation that right here and now was an immersion in history.
More silence filled space between us.
“do you want to go to the Colosseum?”
It’s an odd sensation that the connection between two people who shared a decent chunk of their life together could be actively worse than that of strangers meeting in the street.
Upon entering the Colosseum we both administered the look to walk separate routes in opposite directions around. I felt like the abiding balls of a Newton’s cradle. We passed at the mid-way point.
Rome was the city where I knew for sure I had fallen out of love.
word by Sam Fresco
“Ok, hands up. This was actually not-so-loosely based on personal experiences. The art reminded me of a lot of *that* bridge mentioned in the story so it felt natural for a piece to reflect a snapshot of how I felt in that moment. I wanted to make the experience as visceral as possible, really convey the coldness entangled with the helpless dependency you feel in that moment.”
colour by Adriana Coluccio
“Adriana Coluccio is a visual artist based in Montreal. She earned her BFA in 2008 from Concordia University where she studied Studio Art and Film Animation. In her early years as a multidisciplinary artist, Adriana was initially compelled by video art and experimental film. After dabbling with these for a few years, she discovered a true affinity for painting.
Adriana’s painting practice is invested in her passion for traditional forms of oil painting, while drawing influence from her explorations in experimental film, video and digital media. Her paintings are informed by her fascination with the instability of an image and the manner in which images are reproduced or transferred across media. She builds up her canvas with scenes that are potentially on the crux of formation or disintegration.
Adriana exhibits her work extensively in North America , notably in Montreal and New York. Her work can be found in private and public collections, notably in the office of the Deputy of Montreal-North.”
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