solo tango

December 30, 2013 § Leave a comment

and quite a tango it continues to be

re*done*dunce

December 29, 2013 § 3 Comments

though may be re done dance is more apt.

I’m a good writer, when I write, heard myself say, waiting to start work on a rant which has no perfect beginning so it lies in wait, for just the right rite write moment, or pen, or wind or brink or nothing else to do, not that it’s not brewing just under the surface or dissipating in one too many conversations about it.

even now, I can’t find the first bite.

never let it be said that art isn’t tricky business, not the art part but the business part a tricky art, pricing is one thing but now I’m on about the signing ones work thing as if that makes it real, or identifies it as my work or that you are special because you have a work that is signed or that it is a trophy and you are in some club because you have a  signed art/i/fact, not that I haven’t asked someone to sign something for me, but I never really thought about what it was, or what it (might) mean/s or why I would spend the few moments up close and personal asking for a signature instead of looking the person in the eye
and smiling, or saying thank you or hello for that matter

as if the work doesn’t stand alone, and it’s the signature which makes it worth $500.00. Salvidor Dali had the write rite right idea signing blank pieces of paper, though it made the value of his signed work go down, how does that make any damned sense, as if the whole book, or piece is not ones signature

as if the signature has anything to do with it

anyway, I don’t like signing my books
It seems redundant. (And I’m not sure what it means, a means to an end, ways and means, and just means from a value meaning ha!) and if you won’t pay, or you don’t have the means, or mean to pay what I think a book of mine is worth because it is not signed, oh well then I guess it means I get to keep them, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health till the cows come home or the mouse runs up the clock

hmm, this is a good start.
now, I’m going to make a signature signature, how’s that for re done dance

P.S. or maybe every book from now on will have a poem called autograph…

context

December 5, 2013 § 1 Comment

in between times

in between times

or random starting points, or

just doing it.

December 4, 2013 § Leave a comment

so, in a fflap p
part of the crow series, which of course is not about crows at all, but about my friend don, and by extension me, and the times of course, and life and death, and now about the final dither of putting it together in its book form and the ways in which I can, one can, make it out of this world complicated or distill it to its common sense and just do it easy 

in a flapp is a book made up of 6 two-sided 6″ squares which need to be joined so they can fold up into a 6″ squareIMG_0348and there will be only one, ONE, copy
and the sticking points, as it were, were the hinge and the glue, (what kind of hinge, what kind of glue) and of course the  gluing, a whole tribulation unto itself. (read more about it here.)

I spent a couple of days playing with paper tape hinges, kozo paper hinges, linen tape hinges, one-sided linen&kozo paper hinges, and 2-sided linen and kozo paper hinges and experimented with both Noro and Yes glue

when I had nowhere to go and nothing left to do but the doing of it, I made tea, put on Bach, made 6 2-sided linen tape and black kozo paper hinges, and having a good sense of how wide the hinge area needed to be just glued the whole damn thing with Yes glue, no rulers, no pencil marks, no hits no runs no errors.

The crow series, whether or not  in the end it has anything to do with crows, certainly started with the damn things and it started taking shape with &, next  in line for rendering into its bookish form and all (almost all) the decisions are made.

mocking up &

mocking up &

 

the printing and turkish map folding is done. square corners. check
pages to be glued are marked
covers fit, at first I thought I’d cut them too small, but they are not intended to go around the pages, so in fact the measurement was correct
mark and make sewing holes
find thread, sew,
glue
la la la having meandered into the vicissitudes I veered away from the single very simple thing I realize each and every time as if it were a new idea:

all dithering and fussing

(and deciding and getting ready or being ill-prepared, having tea or coffee,playing bach or ac/dc, cats or dogs as helpers) aside, it really does boil down to the just doing it, and the doing of it has its own say, its own rhythm its own wisdom its own form and its own way, and you have to just do it,
and each doing informs the next one.

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