codex 3 confessions 2 vignettes

February 12, 2017 § Leave a comment


The wherewithal wear with all and ware with all of it is no small matter but like any good junket by which in fact I mean outing feast banquet trip excursion expedition jaunt or simply good lay bad movie boring job best day ever worst day ever bad hair day going along to get along or bucking with full intent the camaraderie or any system it still boils down to the doing of it.
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.
This was the second time for me, there as an exhibitor as part of a gang of by and large experimental letterpress artists and printers, fine in some cases though our printing and execution may be, or thoughtfully short of fine on all counts the finished codex may be it is artful and full of heart and risk just the same, make no mistake.

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.

And on the other side of it were those drifting and lingering, those loitering and amazed and those with spinning eyes and minds. It’s easy to lose track of the choices to be made. Not everything is grand. Nor the best in spite of the billing. Some of it is perfectly boring once past its cleverness, and so too the hawkers. That is part of the splendor.
All of this said, and grapes sour or otherwise, I am glad to have been there. For a variety of reasons. I hate being left out and I had an opportunity to be included. Or perhaps better said, I had an opportunity to be in included and I hate being left out when I have something to offer, to learn, to say, to stand up and in for. Or, more simply said, (there are times) showing up is fundamental.
That was a ha!
2 vignettes
A fabulously striking young woman, piercings in her upper lip under each nostril dressed in black wearing a black leather jacket, sporting a half shaven head with perfectly straight and black part line black giving way to long rubine red hair draped over her shoulders and back who stood for some time looking carefully at my books. After turning the pages she looked up and said, “I never would have thought to use different papers in one book.”
I confess to having with delight laughed.
An older than 30 younger than 50 year old woman with her two sons in tow was caught by the red strip of paper at the edge of my display. She stopped, smiled, and picked up the red strip of red paper that said
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!”

statements, artist or otherwise

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

here.say. press
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,

managing content:
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

here say  crowe copy

after thoughts

March 11, 2015 § 1 Comment

Codex 2015
It was so many things and I fell in love as I have a wont to do and it was as these things go grand and funny to be part of the conversation, to lose and find my stride awe struck and awe striking, remembering we are who we are willing to take the risk to be, well I mean given the wherewithal no doubt about that,

and there were throngs of people in love with books and all things books and books of every shape and size ridiculous and sublime important and ephemeral seriously funny and funnily serious and those with passion and those with polish, having to choose I definitely hark toward passion, and can forego polish, it (polish) is in its own right just another shtick with nowhere to go, and there were the popular and righteous among us and there were the frivolous and anarchistic and the young and old women and men, all mostly able bodied, ah it is hard work
and there were the freelance with their wares in bags over their shoulders hijacking interested and not so interested purveyors and books were bought and sold for dollars and hundreds of thousands of dollars and others simply looked at so carefully, and joyfully appreciated and there were white gloves and there was laughter and tomfoolery.Inline image
And I know and don’t know at all what any of it means.
Which is to say, I have a good sense of myself and where and how I fit in the world of poets and what my aspirations are, I have no idea of where and how I fit into this world of books and what my aspirations are,
the thing is I’m not sure it makes a whit of a difference until you start thinking about it or talking about it, and then one, I get, embroiled in that gooey self-consiousness that is not quite self awareness, and doesnot spawn anything particularly creative, or helpful for that matter
so I’m fighting off a cold and playing my banjo! and drawing, and in the background working on a new project about self (ha!) and happily have a recently completed book which is part of this new cycle, accepted in an upcoming art (all media) exhibit called ‘peoples’

and of course printing



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