Chlora's Survival Gear
Adaptations of Paul Klee's Fear (Angst), and 13thc. York Psalter, Jonah and the Whale
16" x 21" x 20" installed (in 3 parts)
2004 glazed porcelain with gold, white gold, mother-of-pearl
Chlora gathered up her gear like a storm gathers clouds,
and prepared for the dark. She made a sign of Jonah
and reluctantly submitted herself to three days
inside the belly of a whale. She would, by golly,
face her fear, whatever it was. She solemnly put on
her Davy Crockett cap to give her courage.
She tucked her hair under it so it wouldn't fall out,
like Jonah's probably did, due to the whale's digestive juices.
For extra protection she put a sturdy saucepan over the hat,
like a helmet. Each piece of gear could do double duty;
any of them could serve as a weapon.
She would build her own whale out of sofa cushions
in the corner of the living room. It would be dark inside,
like a cave, so she taped a flashlight onto her helmet,
like one the spelunker guide wore at Devil's Den cave.
Last time her family went there, her sisters got scared
and wanted to leave. But not Chlora. She wanted to go down
deeper to see that devil. If he was real, he should just show
himself and quit being so coy, hiding out in storm sewers
with his stinky devilled eggs.
Food for three days shouldn't be a problem
with a constant supply of plankton, seaweed, and
blind cave fish. Just in case she needed dessert,
she put in three Baby Ruth bars. Afterall, she wasn't
going into exile for punishment but for enlightenment.
They say people in exile get numb and can't
make decisions,so Chlora added her Magic 8 Ball
to the pack of gear. They say you lose track of time
in deep dark places. Chlora didn't want to stay in there
any longer than she had to so she begrudgingly included
her despised alarm clock. TIme was humiliating if you had
a math block, and had to stand out in the hall at school,
waiting for the big hand and the little hand to go straight
up and down. She had come home and told her Mom
she had a big problem. But Mom launched into
the birds and bees before Chlora could confess
that her problem was clocks. She would always
tell the truth but she couldn't tell time.
After that she tried hiding in the long draperies,
wrapped up like a hot dog. But whenever she hid
she was found. It must have been the toes sticking out
that gave her away. Complete coverage was necessary
this time. She carefully stacked up the stiff sofa cushions
into a cozy hidey-hole. Then she placed her trustworthy
stuffed animals around the mouth of the cave like guardians
on a Buddhist temple. They would scare off the evil spirits
like the Big Bad Wolf, whom she sometimes heard at night
scritch-scratching on the screen door. He always came
around when some little pig built a house, spying with his
flirty eyes and his dripping tongue. Chlora knew not
to answer the door unless it was Jesus out there knocking.
Of course, she would like to get a good look at him too,
but they say he is always incognito.
Chlora's last necessity was water, so she filled up
her Girl Scout canteen in the bathroom. While there she
grabbed something from poison control.
She crawled in the cave-belly and wedged the final
sofa cushion firmly into place. One pillow was left over,
so she curled up on it into a ball. She waited and waited for
the dark to feel friendly. The clock glowed loudly
and ticked brightly. Time was not on her side.
Chlora told the clock to shut up and buried it
under her pillow. It was getting stuffy in there. She swigged
some water and stripped off her clothes. That was totally
embarrassing, but nobody was looking. Nothing was
happening. She bit into a candy bar and waited.
There was a faint scratchy sound outside. It came again,
louder and nearer. Then quiet settled back in, but the boredom
was edgy. The scratchy sound came back. The whole structure
trembled. Chlora feared it would all cave in. She squeezed
her cushion. It could serve as an emergency flotation device.
Time got disturbed and the ticking got faster. The raspy noise
became fierce. Plankton were glowing and whirling; seaweed
tangled around her head. The whale's ribs were heaving.
Up ahead she could see his spikey teeth glistening
like stalactites and stalagmites, whichever was which.
Should she flee or wait it out? Chlora feverishly
consulted her 8 Ball. It took an eternity to focus
the eerie blue triangle under her flashlight.
Finally it answered: "Concentrate and Ask Again."
There was no time for that; even the candy bars
were floating now. Mercy!! Chlora clutched her flashlight
and her hard-headed hope, and she cried out to God.
The darkness swelled with Presence. It might be invisible
but it was enough. Chlora suddenly knew her exit strategy.
Unlike Pinocchio who had lit a fire and waited for his whale
to sneeze, Chlora grabbed the Syrup of Ipecac and doused it
all around. Instantly the whale gagged and threw up!
Out burst Chlora and all her gear from the very mouth of hell,
somersaulting, crashing and clanking across the living room floor.
Her cat, Iodine, looked up, mildly amused,
sharpening her claws on the shredded upholstery.
Chlora rubbed her eyes and squinted at the light.
Then she got up.
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