martinimade

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch—either in illustration or word form—and the other would make a companion to the sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

My mistrust of the telephone started in the 1980s, right after I saw A Nightmare on Elm Street, the original, the one with Johnny Depp, the only one worthy of the name.

There’s a scene with the main girl-in-peril, who’d later wake up with a fetching grey streak in her hair, is trying to phone for help. The handset grows a mouth and lips and waggles its tongue at her. Obscenely. And whenever I pick up the phone, my brain sees that scene, those lips, that tongue, the thrusting and the invasiveness. 

That movie the reason I mistrust stairs as well. But that isn’t what you’d asked.

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.