The house is open, and hot, and airless, but still it is preferable to the AC.
My best moments, of late, come in the basement… where there is no season, no tide or influence, just stuff wanting to be chucked, folded, or assembled. It’s cool down there. Scraps that I saved got stitched into this assembly this morning. The pink handmade paper (center) dates back to when we renovated our house. Stuffed in the walls of the old kitchen were newspapers… I saved them, whirred them up in a blender and pulled them into sheets. Ads for clothing and rugs for sale in Framingham. Words that had been in the walls. This batch might have been made with four year olds at C’s nursery school (clue? the pink sparkles). THAT tells me the paper is 14 years old.
Another year, I fed acetate through the inkjet & made copies of a collage featuring fingers pressing into dough from a food magazine. Back then I was thinking about craft and money, wondering about it. I am still wondering about it. There were stars from an antique map of the constellations and fires from Providence, but you can’t really see them now.
Allen Ginsburg never did it for me, but I suppose I have to mention him, what with ‘howl’ and all. I printed HOWL onto cloth and acetate at a time when you couldn’t (and you STILL can’t) escape the words DREAM TRUST CREATE BELIEVE, like we are all four years old and waiting for Santa.
I like the photographed, ink stitches lining up with the thread stitches.
I can’t keep my blog up to date with the work that I am doing. I guess that is a good thing, but it has a way of feeling heavy, too.
After quoting the bible yesterday, I was wondering if I ought to express my protests about homophobia in this country, just in case people got the wrong idea.