by Melodie Miller © 2019
Fiona’s paintbrushes leaned at an eighty-degree angle inside the utility jar that sat on the easel shelf. The paintbrush’s heights were uniform, made of dark blond, smooth bamboo spindles. The bamboo spindles stood eight inches tall with a diameter of seven millimeters. A dark black, copper-clad ferrule circled the top of each spindle, holding the bristles in place.
The tip of one spindle was wrapped with a 2-millimeter open loop attached inside a small hole, glued to the moon-shaped head of the brush. Each outer bristle was made of soft mink belly hairs and the core was made of firm hairs taken from the spine of a wild boar.
Printed on the original paintbrush packaging the manufacturer guaranteed the bristles would produce “smooth, dynamic strokes when both light or heavy pressure was applied.”
The bristles were clean and still damp from washing and pointed to the ceiling like boot camp soldiers falling out of rank. The name YASUTOMO BAMBOO CALLIGRAPHY BRUSH was engraved in a manually burned branding method at the lower third of the spinal. The engraving was coarse-looking and ruff to the touch, emblematic of Fiona’s temperament.
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Sara reached inside the bronze-colored storage shelf labeled ‘B.’ The box was wrapped in newsprint paper that was faded on the corners. Handwritten in black felt tip pen was the name ‘Fiona Xi, 2018, Evidence.”
Melodie Dawn Miller 