The Pale Beyond

“If you attend to Mark Addison Kershaw on Facebook, you will encounter a person of very little language, spoken or written, accompanied by a dog, enamored of a cat; someone who, even before the current plague, stuck pretty close to home. He comes armed with a pen (for drawing) and a camera (for preserving Georgia wildlife in situ), and infuses all he does and casts his eye upon with gentle (if sometimes a tad ribald) wit.”—Elizabeth Boleman-Herring

Addison

By Mark Addison Kershaw

ATLANTA Georgia—(Hubris)—February 2024—If you attend to Mark Addison Kershaw on Facebook, you will encounter a person of very little language, spoken or written, accompanied by a dog, enamored of a cat; someone who, even before the current plague, stuck pretty close to home. He comes armed with a pen (for drawing) and a camera (for preserving Georgia wildlife in situ), and infuses all he does and casts his eye upon with gentle (if sometimes a tad ribald) wit. His cast of characters is familiar; his familiars are familiar. But he stands at an angle to the pale; to the world or situation or predicament as perceived by . . . the rest of us. Some of his visual prompts we have seen before, but his two guys stranded on a desert island are about to receive a visit from one of their mothers . . . sailing in, determinedly, bearing clean underwear. See what I mean? At an angle to, if not quite beyond, the pale.