Couple: My Love by Reme Pick

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Sculpture, Porcelain: "Couple: My Love" by Reme Pick

“Couple: My Love” by Reme Pick


Intimate Gaze

by Art Tenbrink

Eyes gazing softly
Holding me intimately
In to me you see

My Love

by Jordan Bernal

My love held so tight
Our dreams begin on this night
Share with me, my love


by Julaina Kleist-Corwin

Past, Present, and future
Now together in stone
Vows remain forever
In health or in sickness
‘Till death tried to part us
We passed beyond the dark.
True love survives. Trust it.


by Diane Lovitt

Gazing into eyes
Torsos are nearly touching
Love is beginning

Eternal Love

by John G. Bluck

The big mountain rumbled and growled like a giant hunting dog that threatened the city by the sea. For three days, lava had flowed down the mountainside, and smoke-like clouds had risen thousands of feet straight up from the peak. This day, though, the clear sky and the water of the bay were vibrant blue. The air was warm.

Lucia, daughter of Julio the wine merchant, stood outside the stables and looked up at the steep mountain. Just then the ground vibrated again. She stroked her long, auburn tresses and hurried into the stables.

“Claudio,” she called, as she looked around inside for her best friend and now her lover.

She thought, “Too bad father doesn’t approve.”

There was an ear-piercing explosion, the ground shook, and Lucia felt dizzy. She almost lost her balance, and her heart raced in fear, as she stared at the straw on the dirt floor where she had nearly fallen. The horses stamped the ground and made strange vocalizations.

The back door of the stable slapped against the rough wooden door frame. Claudio’s handsome silhouette was backlit by a strange orange glow.

“Lucia, the mountain exploded!” He ran to her and embraced her. The strength of his muscular arms gave her courage.

She kissed his chest where his shirt was unbuttoned. “Claudio, what should we do?” she asked, as she looked up into his dark, sparkling eyes.

“Flee on horseback. Lava cut across the seaside road. The wagon wouldn’t make it through the brush.” He pointed in the direction of the only road out of town that meandered along the cliff, which bordered the ocean below.

“It’s a good thing that father’s sailing to the capital with the last of the wine.”

An immense explosion thundered, and the ground quaked even more violently than before, throwing Lucia and Claudio off balance. They fell onto a pile of yellow straw.

Bright sunshine, mixed with a strange carroty glow, streamed in through the open door. The odd light dimmed within twenty seconds, as if a black storm cloud had raced above. Now hazy and dark orange, the shadowy light turned even murkier. Cracks between some of the stable’s boards that had let sunlight enter minutes ago now appeared black as soot.

Claudio stood up, grabbed an oil lantern, and lit it with a flint. “I’ll saddle the horses.”

A tap, tap, tapping sound penetrated the wooden roof and echoed louder and louder like a hail storm growing stronger.

Lucia looked up. “What’s that?”

“Pebbles from the exploded mountain, I imagine. We’d better stay here until the stones stop falling.”

The storm of rocks beat even harder on the roof until the roar became deafening. Lucia ran to Claudio and clung to him. A large stone smashed through the roof at the back end of the stable, sending splintered boards to the ground. A cloud of fine pumice dust bellowed downward. Miniscule rock particles blew in through the open door in a cloud, and bits of volcanic ash streamed in through the cracks between the boards in the roof and walls.

“Get in the big wagon!” yelled Claudio over the din. They ran to the heavy cargo wagon, and he boosted Lucia so she could clamber over the back wagon gate.

The wagon had a canvas top and thick, sturdy walls made of red oak. Just behind the wagon’s front bench where the driver would sit, there was a large wooden box, made for storage of valuable goods.

“Let’s get in there,” Lucia shouted. A small rock shot through the canvas and smashed into the floor of the wagon, then bounced around.

Claudio jerked open the back door of the nine-foot-wide box and pushed Lucia inside. He crawled into the semi-darkness of the wooden enclosure, which was high enough to stand in, if he bent his back. A few inches of straw covered the floor.

“We might as well be comfortable,” Lucia said, as she pushed straw into a pile near a back corner of the box. She coughed. Fine rock dust was clouding the air, and stones continued to beat on the roof, but the sound was a bit muffled by the box.

Claudio helped push straw into the pile until it was big enough for the two of them. He sat on one half of the heap, leaned against the side wall, and coughed, gagging on the gritty dust. Lucia sat near him, her right shoulder against the back wall so she could face him.

He cleared his throat and began to take off his shirt. “Here, put this around your nose and mouth to keep out the dirt.” He held out the shirt for her.

“No, Claudio. You use it.” She took off her blouse and wrapped it on her face, fighting the urge to cough.

“You’re beautiful,” he said through the cloth of his shirt.

“You, too. Let’s kiss.” She leaned closer to him, still facing him.

They moved the cloth from their lips and kissed for a long minute. They pulled back from their embrace to look into each other’s eyes, but their breasts still touched.

“I’ll love you for eternity,” he said.

“My love will never end,” she replied, as a stream of toxic, hot volcanic gas hit them.

They died almost instantly, each looking at the other. Ash blew into the enclosure and buried them, enfolding them in darkness. In death they still faced one another, supported by the oak walls of the box.

Time passed, and darkness protected a gray field mouse whose tunnel was near two black voids within the soil. A loud rumbling from above caused the tiny rodent to pause and sniff the burrow’s air.

Dr. Joseph Amherst had stopped pushing the ground-penetrating radar machine over the rough ground when he came to a hollow spot beneath his feet. The apparatus rode on a chassis that looked like a lawnmower.

“I’ve got something here, Alf!” he called out.

Alfred Rubenstein, professor of ancient civilization studies, quick-stepped to where Amherst stood looking at a computer screen that showed a graphic of two human figures in exaggerated shades of red, orange, and blue.

Alf stared at the image of the two people. “The horses we found are great, but this is a lot better, Joe. We’ve found a second Pompeii.”

“Yeah,” said Joe who smiled and displayed his coffee-stained teeth that gleamed in the bright sunlight like old ivory.

Alf turned and waved to student volunteer Tony Roselli, head of the molding crew. Roselli jogged to Alf and Joe.

“What’s up?”

“Joe found a couple of people,” Alf said.

“Sweet,” Tony said.

“Why don’t you skip molding the second horse and do this cavity first?”

“For sure,” Tony said, as he peered at the gaudy, false-color computer image.” Looks like a man and a woman. I can’t wait to see what the plaster of Paris will show us this time.”

Two weeks later, renowned sculptor Mary Stanley closed her eyes and slowly moved her fingertips across the plaster of Paris figures molded from the hollowed out voids.

“What do you think, Mary?” Alf Rubenstein asked, as he watched her feel the forms.

With her eyes still closed and her hands exploring the plaster, she said, “I can see them in the flesh, even if these are rough approximations of what they looked like lifetimes ago. She was so beautiful, and he, so handsome.”

As Mary opened her eyes, a lone tear rolled down her check. She daubed it from her face with her hand.

“It is sad,” Alf said.

“I hope to do them justice when I create the sculpture.”

“The beautiful piece you make could last a thousand years. But even after the sculpture turns to dust, I’m sure their love will live longer than the earth and the sun — on and on forever.”

—The End—

Ceramic Choice

by Linda Todd

Grams walked along the walls lined with shelves. White ceramic plates, bowls, and cups of all sizes and shapes stood patiently waiting for someone to select them and bring them to life with colorful glaze. Ceramic animals lined one shelf, angels sat on another.

She tried to avoid the statue of the naked man and woman, but something about it enchanted her. Grams walked by it a couple of times, pretending to avert her eyes. She imagined holding the brush and painting the glaze over the muscular torso of the man and the perky breasts of the woman. What would the girls think of me?

Regina and Betty, her granddaughters, had picked Grams up at her apartment earlier in the day, “A girls’ night out,” they had said. “We’ll go to dinner and then to the pottery studio.” Now Regina and Betty sat at a round table, their ceramic selections in front of them.

Another tour around the shop and Grams ended back in front of the statue. She had to have it, already pictured it sitting on her dresser where it would be the first thing she saw in the morning when she woke and the last thing she saw at night when she retired.

“Hurry up, Grams. You have to help me pick out the glaze,” Betty said.

“Give me a minute.” Grams pulled the fruit bowl with ripple edges from the shelf. She didn’t want the fruit bowl, she wanted the statue that would remind her of her younger years when she and her husband were newlyweds. They had lived in a studio apartment with barely enough money for the rent and food. They didn’t care; they were in love. Their favorite pastime was discovering each other’s bodies; and continued to be until Gramp’s death last year.

But her granddaughters were expecting her to select something safe like the fruit bowl.

At eighty-seven years old, why do I still care what other people think? Haven’t I earned the right to do what the heck I want? Grams sat the fruit bowl down, walked over to the statue, and lifted it from the shelf. As she sat down between her granddaughters, she saw the look they shared and the little sly smiles they tried to hide.

“Okay, young ladies, let’s get to painting. What are you waiting for?” Grams said.

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