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.
The Departed & The Chosen
collage (altered Polaroid, map, anatomical illustration, and child’s dress pattern) with Neocolors II in altered book
9 3/8 x 11 3/4 inches
The Departed (a found poem)
Our departure
cost nothing less
and offered freedom
from entanglement.
The Chosen (a found poem)
The chosen
arranged
according to the measure
of influence and power.
There are several pieces that I’ve been meaning to re-shoot, because the original photos I took were total crap. I did a couple this afternoon. I did both straight-up versions as well as tarting them up in Photoshop. It’s kind of interesting when a piece can have two lives, both as an artwork and as a photograph.
Remembering Beatrice Stone
I got an e-mail a couple of years ago from a guy who was looking for genealogical information on Beatrice Stone. I hated to break it to him that the name was made up. Using an old college yearbook, I took a first name from column A and a last name from column B.
Epitaph for Eula Strange
Epitaph for Eula Strange
I dread for me
living one mute day every time
an allusive and subtle communication
an ever present affliction
clutching to me
an old thought to gnaw on.
I am afraid
out of worth
without words
caught and reduced and disorganized
like dreaming of sleep
and the taste of dry bones.
Two more found poems.
The Departed
Our departure
cost nothing less
and offered freedom
from entanglement.
The Chosen
The chosen
arranged
according to the measure
of influence and power.
The Martyrs
collage and watersoluble crayons in altered book
9 3/8 x 11 3/4 inches
The Martyrs (a found poem)
Empty martyrs,
blind guides,
maddening to pin down;
Wildly inconsistent
but others only pretended piety.
Questions divided
to find a clear answer,
Rituals culminated
in spite of all this,
Convincingly argued,
they celebrated
as a sacrament
such contradictions.
The Martyrs
Empty martyrs,
blind guides,
maddening to pin down;
Wildly inconsistent
but others only pretended piety.
Questions divided
to find a clear answer,
Rituals culminated
in spite of all this,
Convincingly argued,
they celebrated
as a sacrament
such contradictions.
The Heretics
collage and watersoluble crayons in altered book
9 3/8 x 11 3/4 inches
The Heretics (a found poem)
When discovered among themselves –
Grudgingly respected,
Arrogant upstarts who threatened
the message,
Engaged in conversation with
such dissident seekers
With deeper insights
derived from deeper mysteries –
For the first time
The heretics speak to us
in their own words.
I’m a little ambivalent about how this turned out, visually. I’d probably change some things if I could. It’s a start, though, and starting is always the hardest part.
I should also point out that I cropped and pasted the two pages together, so that there is no gutter or white space. I had to scan them separately, because the book is too large to fit on my scanner bed. Didn’t I say that the next book was going to be small enough to fit? I lied.
The Heretics
When discovered among themselves —
Grudgingly respected,
Arrogant upstarts who threatened
the message,
Engaged in conversation with
such dissident seekers
With deeper insights
derived from deeper mysteries —
For the first time
The heretics speak to us
in their own words.
I started a new project last night: another altered book. While flipping through it, trying to decide how to get started (aieee!), a couple of phrases jumped out at me. I got out a pencil and blocked out a few words. And then a few more. And a few more.
The Terrible Hours: We Sat and Waited for the Shocking to Begin
collage (anatomical illustration, child’s dress pattern, altered poem, and magazine clippings)
9 1/4 x 11 3/4 inches
And so we sat and waited for the shocking to begin;
But there wasn’t room for blushes, or a place to put them in —
Till at length it dawned upon us we had all been sold.
One Desert Crossed
collage (altered Polaroid photo, sandpaper, newsprint, magazine clipping, filmstrip, leaf, fragment of old lace curtain) and oil pastel
8 3/4 x 11 1/2 inches
The title comes from an Emily Dickinson poem, I did not reach thee.
I did not reach thee,
But my feet slip nearer every day;
Three Rivers and a Hill to cross,
One Desert and a Sea—
I shall not count the journey one
When I am telling thee.
Two deserts—but the year is cold
So that will help the sand—
One desert crossed, the second one
Will feel as cool as land.
Sahara is too little price
To pay for thy Right hand!
The sea comes last. Step merry, feet!
So short have we to go
To play together we are prone,
But we must labor now,
The last shall be the lightest load
That we have had to draw.
The Sun goes crooked—that is night—
Before he makes the bend
We must have passed the middle sea,
Almost we wish the end
Were further off—too great it seems
So near the Whole to stand.
We step like plush, we stand like snow—
The waters murmur now,
Three rivers and the hill are passed,
Two deserts and the sea!
Now Death usurps my premium
And gets the look at Thee.
red paper boat 