February 17, 2017 § 2 Comments
There’s always the part where one becomes disheartened, or the project disheartens.
It having started with a focus and a deadline and a plan a project an idea yes an idea that was too complicated, and maybe had too many moving parts to meet said deadline, but there was no way I had been able to successfully talk myself out of it and forward ho with reckless enthusiasm I was going.
And this morning a windless sail.
And in between after codex conversations about where to now, what next?
The ways in which one one can start with the book as a stationery object and move toward the book (the art) as experience, (in the making and observing)
or it is, and starts with an/ the experience and moves toward objectification or artifact if you will
we got to the coming and going of it, and if in fact making a book is like riding the freights as in you meant to go to North Dakota and end up in Minnesota then, the art is what happens in between the two places
And so as is the case I was in the wrong place, or thinking in inches using a metric ruler or forgetting that lead type is not digital, though it was in my digits, which is to say instead of fomenting with the tool in hand I was trying to replicate something already done ●●● in the best way that particular thing was going to be done●●● instead of doing, experiencing what wouldcould be done with the tool in hand, and once figuring that out, once, I remembered there are things handily and readily done with lead type and leading that are indelicate and a yearning desire for photoshop well so there I am now, wind at my back!
And I’m off to my own out of order in preparation for advancing waters shop to see what may be wrought.
It is the remembering and forgetting of it all that one forgets and remembers forgetting, forgets remembering.
February 12, 2017 § Leave a comment
And either way, that is on either side of the table it is not for the feint or faint of heart. Which isn’t to say it’s not delightful, but it is opulent. It is obscene. But in its forbearance, annoying though it may be, lies its success, and its provocation, well at least to me.
Each time, and for each who enters there, no matter which side of the table (1000.00 or 30.00 or whatever the four day entry fee was) you are on, to succeed you must know why you are there. You must know what you are doing there, otherwise you are doomed. Otherwise you, one is not up to the rigors of withstanding the onslaughts, and there are many. Fine books to be sure, fine people to be sure, fine views, and conversations and ideas, and community and camaraderie in equal measures. But on the flip side the downside of up, and being called out every which way you go, are you good enough? Smart enough? Right enough? Rich enough? Literate enough? Bookish enough? Hip enough? Conversant? Artist? Writer? Poet? Able? Young? Old? On the list?
And there is no kidding oneself, there is no it doesn’t matter to start with. One can and over a lifetime (artist or otherwise) one does make it to ones own sensibility of mattering, and the aesthetic of it all, but one doesn’t start there, and many with names and experience, many who taught the many who are now the upandcomers were painfully adrift and feeling out of sync and measure somehow not properly given their (sense of their) due, or proper admiration. Never mind their work.
That was a ha!
I confess to having with delight laughed.
black & white and read all over
and made sure to point out the not black and white of it to her nodding boys. I asked the older of the two boys if he knew the answer. He looked blank, I looked to the woman who was also at a loss. “It’s a riddle,” I said, “what is black and white and red all over?” They had no idea. Never having heard such a thing.
When I gave them the answer the older boy asked, “red or read?”
I confess to having smiled. “Well, that’s just the point!”
February 1, 2017 § 4 Comments
not because I can but because I breathe not
because I would die but because I’m not dead because
I breathe and
because I get dressed.
because my eyes are brown. because
the sun is in aquarius or virgo or not.
because I am sad glad mad had
because I am
those who can. must
some would say I’ve always been here saying, say I’ve always had, and given voice to, but there is a particular and impressive clarity now, distilled through and refracted by typography and brought to bear through the stages of letterpress publication which celebrates everything word, and demands nay elicits a sparse certainty,
my work has always involved story telling and listening, with an eye toward elucidating a set of values since in large part it is living in accordance with our values which allows us to know who we are and why we do what we do
which allows us to know why we do what we do and so, who we are
now, it is as an elder with a voice and a press, and perspective born of telling and listening to stories told by my elders and to those who use story to find their way to a possible life
the press: the first social media, which first gave us– the common man– access to the word and to deciphering it,
I keep doing what I’m doing what I’m working on what pops into my field of vision and interest because it all seems to be part of the project I’m working toward.
even if I don’t know how
January 1, 2017 § 4 Comments
5 books in a series begun two years ago, exploring the vagaries, the moods and nuances of SELF: Who am I. What do I want. How do I know.
(Footing; self; name; place; hole in the grid).
And the projects along the way which include a few indices and lexicons yet to be pulled together
So under the rubric of syntactical drift, and the play of snigow (otherwise intended to have been mobius (<–you see the upside down and backwards of it, yes?) and working with lists of words already in play and words not yet brought into play I will go forward in mirth and good cheer, with hope, and my pollyanna in pigtails and ribbons on the one hand &, nasty pussy full of hiss and vinegar claws at the ready on the other.
November 18, 2016 § 4 Comments
a word that means what it is;
an intrinsic upside down and backwards of a thing, person, or nation;
the inside out of a thing, person, or nation
the doing of something absolutely upside down, backwards and/or inside out;
an utter, or intrinsic undoing of a person, thing, or nation;
a fundamental error of typesetting
snigowed: bamboozled, of course the i is upside down;
to be snigowed: you know who, as you know what.
n.b. if it doesn’t make sense just yet, just wait, it surely will soon.
coming soon: snigowed; the movie.
November 11, 2016 § 7 Comments
Day two of president elect Donald Trump. And playing out on a national level is the confusion of feelings and facts, by which I mean understanding reality based on ones feelings, and justifying ones actions based on feelings. Well, I mean the whole election was an example of that, but as my good friend Doug pointed out for at least the 150 times in the last year or so, we are a republic, not a democracy, and it’s not simply about majority rules. It’s about disagreement, and the push and pull and tug and scratch of the factions. And of course there was going to be push back against the what the fuck of all the changes that have seemingly been rammed down the throats of white men and women it can’t help but be said, who weren’t, aren’t ready. But, it is just another cycle and another beginning, and change does not come at the click of the mouse, nor in a nanosecond, and is not done by others, so there is a steep learning curve.
Wow how did I get to be on the elder side of this I can’t help but marvel.
This whole cycle was also full of no one knowing what they were talking about. The irony of course is that Donald Trump was the perfect exemplar of that, and so of course he won. But the extent to which now in post mortem people continue to come up with simple explanation not to mention blame to explain the right and wrong of it is as mind blowing as the whole experience has been. And it is annoying.
So I get back to feeling sad feels sad, or mad or glad and let’s just rest there until one can or is willing to marshall his her or eir feelings to get about life the business at hand, which is living in accordance with ones own values, oh yes, here we are back to how do you know who you are what (do) you want?
The motes in our eye are blinding.
But and feeling sad feels sad. Or scared or angry.
The blame game is lame.
It just is the beginning of another circular go nowhere argument and there are plenty of parties to engage but they are all someone’s other. Yesterday my sweet husband in his discombobulation tried out I blame this on women! I mean I got the point he was trying to make but, really?! Really he thought saying it just like that would do anything but land up his ass?!
The fix is in there is no fix except the fix we are in and pulling on the short hairs of r.d. Laing, therein is the fix. Ha!
There is a glut of everyone thinking they’re so smart or have just right thing to say this away. Mostly, if, or when, we are honest, really what everyone is doing is triangulating, checking to see the lay of their land, their tribe, their safety, their fallback position. Of course we are afraid, but we must not cower. Of course we are sad but we, by which I mean I, will not despair. All is not lost. All is not anything.
So, the extent to which any of us do not temper our smartest in the room with wisdom is the extent now to which we are no longer the smartest one in the room. Just sayin’
In fact that you look and sound exactly like the arrogant and so blinded by the mote in your own eye shortsighted blowhard know nothings you are deriding.
It’s very much more complicated to be as smart as you think you are. And you’re old enough now to start wising up. As in adding a mix of wisdom, and (not empathy or compassion, but) the tenderness and ferocity that comes from your own skin singe in the game, to the way you move around in our world.
Time to dial it back a bit or it will bite you in the ass, in the real world you, as in, we live.
Tempted of course would I be to give him backstory and context but that then would give him ground for debate and therein is the extent to which the point would have been missed. It is a rubicon moment, and I the bony finger pointy nosed cranky old woman who has only to say there’s no sorry that will get you back once you’ve crossed. There is no debate. Cross at your own peril. You’ve been warned, and you don’t get to say no one ever told you.
Not surprisingly he didn’t want to hear. Fair enough.
November 4, 2016 § 5 Comments
Book 1. Limited, varied edition of 10, could be 13. Could be 15, though that would be some kind of magic and variation, or theme and variation.
51 poems, 5 signatures, assorted photos, etchings & rubbings, 108 pages.
The final and 5th part will be a novel novel; hole in the grid.