Adam Fieled (editor, Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania): "Jagged"
Being cut off from the drugs she used to stabilize and balance
her emotions, Mary was a prey to moodiness in Montreal. So
much of what we were doing was about seeds planted for our
future as artists— all long-range plans Mary had made— that
Mary blew off caring about the short-term goal of having any
fun or kicking back and seriously relaxing. Credit where credit’s
due— Mary learned, very thoroughly, her way around Montreal
before we got there. Navigating the Montreal subway system was
thus easy with her around. Nor was there any dawdling about
where to go next— Mary was a cyclone of involvement on that
level, and it was all taken from my hands. It’s just that, in my
youth, I did not understand, and Mary did not bother to explain,
the calculatedness of what her camera did, where we went, what
we saw in what order and why. And pot not being there to take
the edge off, for both of us, meant that we could hit a jagged
interval at any time. What Mary had available as a combo—
pills, Klonnies, and no pot— made a cocktail that could run
around loose for a whole day, but then crash abjectly into
a trance-level stupor not to be untangled. Mary, without pot,
was also easily spooked, not just by barroom brawls on Saint
Catherine Street but by anything that seemed like someone was
sending her bad vibes. The night Mary abruptly gestured for us
to leave a random English-language bookstore on the Plateau, I
thought she was merely bored, but when I looked closer at her,
I understood that she felt someone had made an inappropriate,
ominous pass while I had my back turned. Mary without pot
could be paranoid. The moments we spent close to the edge
just had to be endured, as the seeds that needed to be planted were.
© Adam Fieled 2026
her emotions, Mary was a prey to moodiness in Montreal. So
much of what we were doing was about seeds planted for our
future as artists— all long-range plans Mary had made— that
Mary blew off caring about the short-term goal of having any
fun or kicking back and seriously relaxing. Credit where credit’s
due— Mary learned, very thoroughly, her way around Montreal
before we got there. Navigating the Montreal subway system was
thus easy with her around. Nor was there any dawdling about
where to go next— Mary was a cyclone of involvement on that
level, and it was all taken from my hands. It’s just that, in my
youth, I did not understand, and Mary did not bother to explain,
the calculatedness of what her camera did, where we went, what
we saw in what order and why. And pot not being there to take
the edge off, for both of us, meant that we could hit a jagged
interval at any time. What Mary had available as a combo—
pills, Klonnies, and no pot— made a cocktail that could run
around loose for a whole day, but then crash abjectly into
a trance-level stupor not to be untangled. Mary, without pot,
was also easily spooked, not just by barroom brawls on Saint
Catherine Street but by anything that seemed like someone was
sending her bad vibes. The night Mary abruptly gestured for us
to leave a random English-language bookstore on the Plateau, I
thought she was merely bored, but when I looked closer at her,
I understood that she felt someone had made an inappropriate,
ominous pass while I had my back turned. Mary without pot
could be paranoid. The moments we spent close to the edge
just had to be endured, as the seeds that needed to be planted were.
© Adam Fieled 2026
<< Home