Unseen maids wait
Where shame late fled
Oh righteous sword
Brave boaster
Go once more
Thy rage bids thee
Fall upon the field
Forc’d, entranc’d, dissolv’d away
Having spoke in vain
This is another found poem from Alexander Pope’s translation of Homer’s Iliad. This one is in response to a new round of rageful comments from the ubiquitous misogynists that feminist blogs tend to attract. And then there were a couple of instances this week, at work, when one of my male coworkers asked me a question and then proceeded to talk LOUDLY over me while I tried to answer him. It was one of those soul destroying sort of weeks when I wonder why I bother.
With giant Pride
And all his hundred hands
His remembrance call
To hurl
To heap
To know
His wide dominion
And disgrace
Nurs’d for future woes
O careful Wish
Thy vessels sail
From danger threats
To move
Behold
The farthest grace
Twelve days returning
Spoke the rolling waves
Unclose
Iphigenia
collage (anatomical illustration, and blueprint) on Arches cover paper
7 1/2 x 11 inches
But you, Iphigenia, upon your head
Will the Argives wreathe a crown
Like a heifer, red, white, unblemished,
They will slash your throat.
For sacrifice.
The poem is done, but the artwork is not. That’s on the schedule for tomorrow. Survivor and Lost are on tonight, so I’m going to be gorging on television starting in about five minutes.
How many would have recognized
the world in which they lived?
Their ideas molded by institutions
and the imperial cult
the groundless assertion
of their unique devotion
the progress of the gods
kingdoms and empires acquired and expanded
wars and victories without piety.
The pact
formed by criminals and murderers,
they were sacrilegious masters.
They sided with tradition —
illegal baptism
enslavement to the martyrs
agony endured and born a new —
an order
founded upon divine claims,
and some dared insist
divine right.
I finished the poem and painting part of this months ago, but didn’t like where the collage was going, so I got stuck. It’s been sitting on my coffee table since, um, January. Oops!
collage (leaf, yearbook photo, ribbon, coin, buttons, map legend, and raffle ticket) with watersoluble crayon and found poem in altered book
9 3/8 x 11 3/4 inches
The Story
(a found poem)
The story was a riddle
pointing to a shimmering surface
to hidden depths
to inner experience.
The story
neither sought nor found
like a melody continually improvised
full of blasphemy
for many generations venerated
should not be read simply.
The story
found in the garden
between the infinite and finite
above the abyss that separates
the failed and perfection
depends upon the divine
hidden deep within
as well as outside.
The story was a riddle
pointing to a shimmering surface
to hidden depths
to inner experience.
The story
neither sought nor found
like a melody continually improvised
full of blasphemy
for many generations venerated
should not be read simply.
The story
found in the garden
between the infinite and finite
above the abyss that separates
the failed and perfection
depends upon the divine
hidden deep within
as well as outside.
I promised art a couple of days ago, but obviously, I lied. And by the time I finished last night, it was way past my bedtime.
This one has another packing tape transfer (a phrenology model), but it’s even fainter than the last one I did. I like the way it turned out. Tape transfers are kind of hit-and-miss for me. Often, the image pulls completely away from the tape, no matter how careful I am or how well I burnish. Some folks recommend soaking the taped image for a few minutes, but that makes the problem even worse. I’ve settled on taping, burnishing the hell out of it, then using a baby wipe to remove the paper from the tape. I haven’t had 100% success with doing it that way, but close to that.
This is a totally adorable demo for making tape transfers. I love that it’s a young boy doing it. He uses clear contact paper, instead of packing tape, but the technique is the same.
collage (altered Polaroid, anatomical illustration, packing tape transfer, and fragment from antique curtain) with watercolor pencil, watersoluble crayon, and found poem in altered book
9 3/8 x 11 3/4 inches
The Automatons
(a found poem)
More valuable than anything else,
his own desire for becoming.
The work and the excellence,
The common instincts of humanity
regarded as the highest virtue
And in the duties of tradition and custom
A convert denied
that destiny ruled his life,
Rejected demands and expectations
To devote himself
to the obstacles that were within him.
More valuable than anything else,
his own desire for becoming.
The work and the excellence,
The common instincts of humanity
regarded as the highest virtue
And in the duties of tradition and custom
A convert denied
that destiny ruled his life,
Rejected demands and expectations
To devote himself
to the obstacles that were within him.
collage with Portfolio watersoluble crayon and found poem in altered book
9 3/8 x 11 3/4 inches
The Witnesses
When they die
you call them gods
made and placed in shrines.
Hoping to convince the uninterrupted generations,
defiance was the response;
The terrible choice between denying
and the claim that these could catch fire
Among the disaffected and the restless
who had inspired with the idea
who had dared a stubborn dissident
who had refused to obey
And took for granted the sacrifice and submission.
When they die
you call them gods
made and placed in shrines.
Hoping to convince the uninterrupted generations,
defiance was the response;
The terrible choice between denying
and the claim that these could catch fire
Among the disaffected and the restless
who had inspired with the idea
who had dared a stubborn dissident
who had refused to obey
And took for granted the sacrifice and submission.
red paper boat 