May 12, 2010

This project, “A Book for a Book,” is a physical grappling with unwanted books.Too many books–I neither have room for them, nor do I anticipate reading them (again). No one else wants them either.

Certainly there must be, somewhere in each volume, at least one idea, one formulation, at least one phrase that is worth preserving, reading, contemplating. But no one–neither you nor I–is prepared to read them now.

What to do? Many of them I will mulch, along with wheelbarrows full of volumes from friends whose entire libraries were devastated by the recent floods. I think I’ll adapt straw-bale gardening techniques to create a book-mulch garden. But before I attempt this, I want to honor these old works of intellectual expression and bookmaking craft. And to construct a kind of bibliography or catalogue of books I once used.

This is one of the early pieces of the project: a little art book that is felted (of course), but that contains as its pages small works of art in their own right. The two end pages, neatly “matted” by the felted book frame, are the product of: 1. a collage of paper fragments torn from two old German books; 2. the collage scanned and printed in reverse; 3. then transferred to beautiful, heavy Hahnemühle Bamboo art paper. The center pages are collage images scanned and printed onto thick transparent sheets, which are then sewn with embroidery thread into the felted “binding.”

The cover is an inset layer of metal mesh.

The book is a deceptively lovely object, sitting on a shelf in my studio at home. Is it a miniature monument to lost ideas? Is it a gesture of Baroque vanitas, rendering beautiful the detritus of culture as a reminder that everything and everyone passes?

April 29, 2010

Six linked pieces, each 9″ x 11″, in process:

We begin with a door, always with a door. A portal into or out from a walled city, a fortress. But howsoever gray and thick the wall, there is always a door. And our story begins only when you find it, and open it, and walk through…

Fairy tales require tests, proofs of courage, a willingness to pass through the dark forest. That very dark forest is everything, nurture and death. You will see eyes in the branches, you will see witches in the shape of trees and in the eyes of odd old women. You are not wrong to fear them, but do not think you understand them. You do not.

If you are lucky and brave and kind, if you help the woman rather than kill the witch, you will come to another portal deep in the woods, away from the river that might have led you home. This door will be a cottage, or a cave, or a well. It is in the middle of no-where, unmappable but unmistakable. You should not hesitate to enter, although everything will change when you do.

In a fairy tale, you may find your way to a world in the sky. You might climb a magic vine, or travel with a raven that you fed on one of your paths, or fall up a hole in the air. The world of the sky exists with different time, so be wary. The music that you hear behind the door is more beautiful than anything you have known.

The sky world has gardens with wondrous plants that you’ve never seen, and streams of singing water that you almost understand. Do not pick the blooming flora. Do not drink the water. Continue on your way, as if you knew your way, and be chaste. If you are kind and brave and lucky, you will find the final door. If you are even more that all these things, you will carry memories of the garden’s enchantment with you always, and its magic will help you in times of great distress.

This last door is difficult, but if you can recognize it, if you oil its hinges and leave some small offering on the ground without being asked, a passage should open into the world you used to wake to every day without surprise. The bit of green that you finally will inhabit is surprisingly small, but you will not mind. It seems much changed, after all your traveling. If you find this bit of green, this small haven that is itself a portal between deep earth and deeper sky, then all will be well enough thereafter.

April 29, 2010

I have enjoyed working on this piece for the last several weeks:

I am very pleased with this as it hangs, gallery-wrapped in gray felt, on the wall; however, I am not at all pleased with the photographs I have taken of it thus far. They are flat and dull by comparison with the work itself. The problem, I suspect, is that I have been trying to photograph this, and other large pieces, on the wall in natural daylight. (Natural light indoors is great for the eye, bad for the camera.) “Giant Sea Dream” measures 28″ x 18″–not enormous, but large enough to read across a room, and too big for my light box. Time to come up with a new strategy… Even with controlled studio lighting, though, it will be difficult to capture one of the elements that makes this medium so beautiful: the fibers catch the light differently throughout a day, creating subtle changes in color and mood.

The accompanying text for “Giant Sea Dream”:

From safe distance, the sea nettles, or jellyfish, are peerless in their graceful movement through time and water. They float with the current, gently brushing against each other, their tendrils twining and untangling in the light that filters through the water. But like most beauty, theirs is also dangerous. These mysterious creatures, genus Chrysaora, kingdom Animalia, sting and paralyze and digest that which they touch. And yet we desire beauty, we want to touch and to become that which reminds us how much more we could be, or what we are not.

April 17, 2010

Introducing the Merman:

He is proud, somewhat dangerous, and pleased that the coral tribute has arrived. An interesting aside: Renaissance paintings are full of children with little coral necklaces, given to them to ward off ills of all kinds. What they did not know was the role the Merman played in the coral’s power.

You can read a bit more about him in the “Fiber Art” section of this site.

April 11, 2010

Responding to a few requests for a world less dark than that inhabited by the Troll Hag (I did say she was dreadfully misunderstood), I have decided to share a glimpse of the more whimsical, springly spriteliness of the Magical Garden of Whirlyblooms. There is more to come, but for now here is one small corner plot:

Pink Snoodle, after a long day helping Cyclops with his library and watching the Witch calm Storm Sneezer (it is, after all, allergy season, which is particularly dangerous when you have a young Storm Sneezer), wants nothing more than some time in the garden.

He particularly loves the ticklish scent of the pink whirlybloom.

Pink Snoodle AND his garden are available here.