Span the Wide Chasm
collage (altered Polaroid, 35mm photo, inkjet print, blueprint, child’s dress pattern, and page from history textbook) on Arches cover paper
7 1/2 x 11 inches
Span the wide chasm, and by a single bound
We trace the life and almost hear the sound.
What echoes haunt thy resurrected walls!
When lurid night engulfed thy stately halls.
I really like the way this one turned out. I sat there for a couple of hours, looking at a pile of things I’d gathered together, and suddenly it all took shape.
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.
A Tiny Cell
collage, Neocolors II, packing tape transfer, with found poetry in altered book
9 3/8 x 11 3/4 inches
A Tiny Cell
All that you have
they do not want.
Suspected
schemed
intended to renounce the world
to ask for protection,
Scattering on the earth
giving shelter
a tiny cell
a shrine to the martyrs,
Like others before and since,
Obligations
all the heavier
because they were so often denied.
This spread gave me all kinds of fits. It helped to put down a protective layer of acrylic matte medium before blocking out the text, but I didn’t apply it to the margins. Duh. So, of course, I got crayon everywhere. And then, I couldn’t find any imagery I liked with the text. I wasted a few hours last night, trying to put something together, before giving up. It wasn’t until this evening, while I was on the phone with my mom and rummaging through a drawer of old magazine clippings, that I found something I liked. When all else fails, go for the giant brain, right?
The transparent box is actually a tape transfer I did of another magazine clipping. I liked its dark, smoky, uncertain quality. It was the borders of the box, and the way they tied everything to the text, that sold me.
red paper boat 