Sugar and spice & everything nice

July 8, 2017 § 2 Comments

not to mention orange.

on the occasion of 65

July 7, 2017 § 2 Comments

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Poem 22 2017

April 22, 2017 § Leave a comment

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Composed at the case, here. say. press

poem 5 2017

April 5, 2017 § 2 Comments

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as if I were tired or old

as if I were waiting, unprepared for no small thing
to come

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

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or not

 

 

.

poem 4 2017

April 4, 2017 § Leave a comment

also composed at the case, this at my shop; here.say. press

 

far from home
this minute too: side-stepping
now forever
lost in the bargain,
baffling, or wayward
not so much errant as
fool

 

(n.b. note the ffl ligature)

 

 

remembering the forgot; full justification

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?
and
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

And then
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

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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.

codex 3 confessions 2 vignettes

February 12, 2017 § Leave a comment

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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!
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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!”
.

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