Mabel Dwight
American, 1876-1955
Queer Fish, 1930’s
Lithography
“Routine”
Routine, you wake up, eat, go to work, eat, sleep, wake up and do it over again. It’s life, something I share with the curious eyes that come to see me. Everyday the lights come on and my home begins to hum. Enclosed with glass there is a place for everything, for me. Others, weeds, stones, even the people. There is a breakfast time and a dinnertime both marked by a loud smacking sound heard throughout the tank. As food hits the water all eyes turn up expectant, waiting, knowing.
The rest of the day passes uneventfully. I move slowly through the water, my fins pushing and pulling. Deep inside this sluggish frame, gelatin and cold I wonder what it must be like to live outside these walls. I don’t remember a family just the countless other creatures who’ve also earned the title of ocean dweller, like the label says. Only, very few of us have lived in this ocean dwelling. Those who have tell us countless stories of its vast openness, changing tides, and vibrant colors. The colors that’s what I long for, a break from the grey blue hue of everything here.
Like clockwork the people come, their muffled voices interrupt my thoughts signaling the curtain call. I drift towards the window watching them watching me. Fat, short, tall, thin, bald, hairy, old, young, men, women, children. Oh the children, they pound on the glass pointing with foolish grins on their faces.
“Smile!” they yell at me through the thick glass pane. I am, I say to myself. “Mom, Dad why does he look so sad?” I wonder at this, for I’ve put on my best face. Frustrated I shout, “It’s not my fault I frown, that’s the way I was made!”
The two way mirror becomes too much and I swim away from the marveling eyes, putting an end to the unending staring contest. Dinner sounds and the faces fade from my window. The lights dim and I sink towards the bottom where I wait for the routine to begin again. For now though, I can forget reality and dream of the colors and endless deep of the ocean.
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