Illustrations

Here you can scroll through a few sample illustrations and their corresponding text.

The Monster

Before she left Boston, Mary Dyer heard that Minister Winthrop described her exhumed still-born child to his God-fearing Christian parishioners on a sunny Sunday on Charles Street as “A most hideous creature, a woman, a fish, a bird, and a beast all woven together.” He continued, “This unearthed monster, like Mary Dyer, is in every tree of knowledge tempting you good Christians with the devil’s fruit of an answered question. Pray dear parishioners you dare not to know the devil’s truth. Pray you do not dare to be different and ask why! Pray the monster does not drink your blood and steal your soul by welcoming you into his garden of earthly knowledge and earthly delights. Pray thee!”

Autumn Leaf Tarred & Feathered

I say to myself, I’ll never laugh at another person’s pain, I’ll never forget this brilliant lie of mine. This lie allows me to catwalk to the stockades in my black-tar dress with white-feathered boa. Blinded by hot tar, with black gooey white feathers flying around and the taste of oil resin in my mouth, I skip along having fun with my feathery fashion, slipping in and out of poison-ivy style. I’m walking to the stockades, spitting feathers out of my mouth, wondering why this is Boston’s “Civilized” Common Square.

Samuel Payneson

Samuel is sweating profusely and I can smell the salty-sailor low-tide oil bubble out of him. His musk is a proud grime that turns arrogant as it mixes with the dust of a weighty iron desk on his back. He stumbles and sways about in a drunk manner. Samuel waddles and drags himself towards the exit door, grunting and scraping himself along. It is sad and voyeuristically cruel for my class and me to sit there and watch him sway back and forth, struggling to not break his back and get to the door to complain to his Big-Daddy about the “Meany” teacher at school, but this, dear reader, is an education in Boston. 

Jen Patack

This common-sense remark throws Jen Patack’s inertia off track and she stands there in the panicky silence of being a defenseless human lost in capitalistic America. Instead of being a comfortable sloth hanging upside down, Jen is now an upright and evolved marsupial. She is barely hanging on, and getting panicky on a spring branch with the most adorable buds of nature blooming. 

Israel Wilkinson

Israel is getting tired of trying to get rid of me, the rabble — the uninsurable, the forgotten, the deplorable with no value. Israel says, “Susan, you’re sub-prime. I’ll have to talk to my cousin in the sub-human market… I mean sub-prime market.” Israel continues looking away from me, “Okay class, you shall have the American dream with enemies and leverage. Um… excuse me, I’m sorry, I mean, you should have the American dream with FRIENDS and INSURANCE! Insurance is American!” Israel proclaims and concludes, “Trust me, you cannot afford to NOT take my help.”

Boston Ballet

The Minister, before he kills Mary, spits in her face and repeats the Mary Dyer nursery rhyme back to her like a bratty child: “Mary the Monster, where are you now? Hungh?” And then in an escalating sinister Governor tone he declares, “Away with the witch. Away, away, away!” flicking his right hand towards the Court Clerk to kick the bucket, as if he is removing lint from his pant leg. Mary drops laughing and then dances her last dance. I look away… the crowd cheers as Mary dies — dancing the Boston ballet.

Illustrations

Navigate through these sample illustrations by clicking on the plus / minus sign.

The Monster

Before she left Boston, Mary Dyer heard that Minister Winthrop described her exhumed still-born child to his God-fearing Christian parishioners on a sunny Sunday on Charles Street as “A most hideous creature, a woman, a fish, a bird, and a beast all woven together.” He continued, “This unearthed monster, like Mary Dyer, is in every tree of knowledge tempting you good Christians with the devil’s fruit of an answered question. Pray dear parishioners you dare not to know the devil’s truth. Pray you do not dare to be different and ask why! Pray the monster does not drink your blood and steal your soul by welcoming you into his garden of earthly knowledge and earthly delights. Pray thee!” 

Autumn Leaf Tarred & Feathered

I say to myself, I’ll never laugh at another person’s pain, I’ll never forget this brilliant lie of mine. This lie allows me to catwalk to the stockades in my black-tar dress with white-feathered boa. Blinded by hot tar, with black gooey white feathers flying around and the taste of oil resin in my mouth, I skip along having fun with my feathery fashion, slipping in and out of poison-ivy style. I’m walking to the stockades, spitting feathers out of my mouth, wondering why this is Boston’s “Civilized” Common Square.

Boston Ballet

The Minister, before he kills Mary, spits in her face and repeats the Mary Dyer nursery rhyme back to her like a bratty child: “Mary the Monster, where are you now? Hungh?” And then in an escalating sinister Governor tone he declares, “Away with the witch. Away, away, away!” flicking his right hand towards the Court Clerk to kick the bucket, as if he is removing lint from his pant leg. 
Mary drops laughing and then dances her last dance. I look away… the crowd cheers as Mary dies — dancing the Boston ballet.

Illustrations

Navigate through these sample illustrations using the arrows to go back and forth.

The Monster

Before she left Boston, Mary Dyer heard that Minister Winthrop described her exhumed still-born child to his God-fearing Christian parishioners on a sunny Sunday on Charles Street as “A most hideous creature, a woman, a fish, a bird, and a beast all woven together.” He continued, “This unearthed monster, like Mary Dyer, is in every tree of knowledge tempting you good Christians with the devil’s fruit of an answered question. Pray dear parishioners you dare not to know the devil’s truth. Pray you do not dare to be different and ask why! Pray the monster does not drink your blood and steal your soul by welcoming you into his garden of earthly knowledge and earthly delights. Pray thee!”

Autumn Leaf Tarred & Feathered

I say to myself, I’ll never laugh at another person’s pain, I’ll never forget this brilliant lie of mine. This lie allows me to catwalk to the stockades in my black-tar dress with white-feathered boa. Blinded by hot tar, with black gooey white feathers flying around and the taste of oil resin in my mouth, I skip along having fun with my feathery fashion, slipping in and out of poison-ivy style. I’m walking to the stockades, spitting feathers out of my mouth, wondering why this is Boston’s “Civilized” Common Square.

Boston Ballet

The Minister, before he kills Mary, spits in her face and repeats the Mary Dyer nursery rhyme back to her like a bratty child: “Mary the Monster, where are you now? Hungh?” And then in an escalating sinister Governor tone he declares, “Away with the witch. Away, away, away!” flicking his right hand towards the Court Clerk to kick the bucket, as if he is removing lint from his pant leg. Mary drops laughing and then dances her last dance. I look away… the crowd cheers as Mary dies — dancing the Boston ballet.