In our sleep and in our absences.

2:22am / Now showing in Portland:

In Our Sleep and In Our Absences
22 Ethereal Nudes by JARET FERRATUSCO

SHOWING Sept. 1st - 28th
RECEPTION First Thursday Sept. 3rd | 6pm-8pm
Live music by Cinema/Minimal



Portland Coffee House
603 SW Broadway
Portland, OR 97205
(503) 243-6374
Mon/Thurs 6am-9pm
Fri/Sat 6am-10pm
Sun 7am-9pm

In an effort to appear calm and collected, it’s an ordinary thing to cover up fears and worries both rational and irrational. This is what we show to other people. But there is an undisclosed place inside the body that will be of some distant unclear dimension, possessing a cruel quality to expand. It is a shapeless thing perpetually overpopulating the inner contours of quietly shapeless thoughts. It’s where all of the lonely, abandoned things live, in private, and grow. What if our fears and our worries were to stop sleeping away in that unknown place in everybody you know, and it took on a much more physical form, bigger than that secret place inside the mind and body, and it turned us inside out? IN OUR SLEEP AND IN OUR ABSENCES concerns a small, hollow place in between, where it’s difficult to imagine what can happen and when.

Photographed entirely on b/w film.

- Corpse On Pumpkin Photography
- Patient, Folded Hands Publishing

Thank you! New book out in Fall 2009. New tour with UNWED SAILOR in December.

An echo passes faintly through the room.

2:06pm.

Our footfalls failed to echo, where the mightiest sounds of the house settling were the faintest of all sounds available. Pressed against the wall, attempting to avoid going further, we chose each room as if we would find our deaths in there. Anxiously we pushed doors open, but filled the room with only the nothingness I began to suspect were our fibers. Our combined weight equaled nothing. Our presences were memories here. We could see that now.












































Yours,
JARET.

We do not cast shadows.

8:44pm.

You've helped me across the floorboards, with your hand extended even when I could not feel it. You waited for me. It did feel like an age, but not physically. It felt like forever in memory. Our helplessness had begun to contaminate the limitlessness. With a doubtful sigh, we held our hands together and made the great leap from the threshold of a single empty and dust-filled room, on to the hall. And then we walked through the house.















Yours,
JARET.

Our fingerprints since dusted from the blinds.

12:35am.

The windowsill and the carpets are musty. But our skin will not collect the same dust. Far beyond the hall there are bedrooms we don't remember. And while we shake the curtains and watch the dust clouds rise, it's easy to remember feeling good, but we look at each other like it will always be just a memory.















Yours,
JARET.

Quietly in the house we wait.

2:58pm.

Something a little like what panic used to be creeps into our arms and eyes, but it's not panic at all. The truth is, we haven't been stirred so much lately. In what seems like an age.















Yours,
JARET.

Ant terrarium.

7:20am.





























Your friend,
JARET.

In single file line.

7:35am.

















Yours,
JARET.