April 5, 2017 § 2 Comments
as if I were tired or old
as if I were waiting, unprepared for no small thing
as if I were not who I am
silly isn’t it
as if the river weren’t still muddy
and your touch didn’t
move me, tired and old
April 4, 2017 § Leave a comment
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