high up in the trees

Current not currant.

These three collaborative collage works are from the series - Pointing my feet in the direction of home. A recent series made with Louise (which you have seen in various stages of dress), some will make their way to the press to become lithographic offset prints (about A4 in size), and others will be printed (for the now) postcard size (for you to send to your nearest, dearest and sweetest).

Catch sight of the other two here.

Happy Tuesday eve to you wherever you are, and may your home be cosy and filled with all manner of goodness. I have been at my parents’ place, filling each of their new iPods with hundreds and hundreds of songs. I have transferred Dixieland jazz and Gypsy and Cajun cds onto impossibly small shiny gadgets as minestrone soup simmered on the stove, its smell filling the house. Thoughts of home and what makes a home are on my mind; may your home be a happy one.

the road home
sunday morning ritual
tuesday breakfast
away from home nº2
...

Postcard travels (VIII)

{At first all was not clear, postcard collage.}

May 10th, 1904

Dear you,

The great big trees of California live up to their promise and name. An ancient open air cathedral, all quiet here in this forest of mostly pines and firs.

I have discovered, though not first hand, that bad luck knocks on the door of those who cut down big trees, or shoot in the direction of an owl.

The space allocated for a message seems to grow smaller and smaller with each postcard. Hope to sight the once thought extinct Ivory Billed Woodpecker. If I sit very still I think I will be in with a sporting chance.

Fir cones and Racoon tracks,
X

Through the middle.

{The eighth in an occasional series of imagined postcards to feature here. The original postcard was received in November… thanks Andrea. Using only postcards received from friends, the next instalment may pop up next week.}

(I have had my head down working on new things I hope to be able to share with you soon, perhaps even as soon as Monday. The above postal correspondence has me longing to head out of doors and to wander further a-field. Here’s wishing you all a weekend of quiet adventure. More soon, friends.)

Shuffling about inside.

{In the library for the blind, the hare went about her business unbothered. (more)}

Views from a Saturday and Sunday spent largely indoors working on a new project. Sourcing, scanning, placing, repositioning, cutting out and tweaking images until my eyes went fuzzy at the edges and sleep beckoned. I love weekends like this. That this weekend was chilly only made it more heavenly.

Here is all that surrounded me as I worked. Not pictured, the homemade Anzacs greatly enjoyed, heavy and syrupy and almost all gone.

+++ A husk of hares - a bright new post can be found here. Expect to find hares drawn, painted and collaged. Expect to find them on their lonesome or fooling about en masse. +++

Postcard travels (VI & VII)

Two more postcards have arrived.

{A fine balancing act, I, postcard collage.}

April 29th, 1904.

Dear you,

Not too sure where I am at the moment but the postage is cheap, domestic one cent, foreign two. Someone muttered something about Germany but I am not convinced; do they have white-bellied penguins there?

Missing our zoological discussions. My notebook is full with descriptions of animals I have sighted and know not their names.

You’ll be pleased to hear I have found you a fetching pair of what I believe to be Roman sandals. Upon reflection they may be a size too large.

Hugs and blue skies,
X

{A fine balancing act, II, postcard collage.}

May 1st, 1904.

Dear you,

Here we are in Stockholm, Sweden marvelling at it all. Perched atop the town hall, overlooking the Western Bridge, I watched and waited for you. (They really ought to repair their roofing, a few roof tiles fell into the water as I sat there and the hole they left was impressive.)

You never came, but in your place, a moose, an elk on a ramshackle bicycle, a wolverine and a pair of lynx from Gästrikland. They spoke to me of the weather, their plans, their likes and their loves. I welcomed their company until they pulled from their wallets several photos of their young.

Shall look for you in the Fisherman’s Bar.

Broken roof tiles and kisses,
X

{The sixth and seventh in an occasional series of imagined postcards to feature here. Thanks to Shona (lala dex press) and Dad for finding these original postcards.}

(If you're as busy as a beaver, you're very busy indeed. I am up to my eyeballs at the moment and hope to be making more of an appearance here soon. Here's to May progressing at a more genteel pace.)

There's treasure to be found in the woods.

{Talking to me in a long forgotten tongue.}

Filling my eyes and ears with beautiful haunting visuals and song, plenty of song. I have been to acmi cinema to catch, as part of their recent focus on a century of Russian cinema, Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979), a philosophical fable about a mysterious Zone that is believed to contain a room which can grant your innermost desires. I have also been to see Transylvania (Tony Gatlif, 2006), and in my ears at the moment Yo La Tengo, Blues singer Bessie Smith, A Hawk and a Hacksaw, Calexico, Dolly Rathebe and her dangerous good African Inkspots and more. Visuals and sounds these past few days set out to win my affections, and easily succeeded in doing so. It was not tricky for I bent easily to their will, such good things to tumble headfirst into whilst working on a series of new collages and a forthcoming collaborative artists’ book with Louise. There’s inspiration and stimulation to be found everywhere; I only hope I can capture a thin slither of what I can see and hear in my mind on the page and screen before me.

Enjoy your Monday; mine has almost gone.

Come with me.

Scenes from my Wednesday, on foot. Come along...

In the morning.

{Casting shadows longer than the trees could ever hope to.}

I buy books sometimes based on cover alone. Otto de Kat’s The Figure in the Distance however, I bought for both its black and white photographic cover and its first paragraph.

The Algonquin lay in New York like a small island. “The names of towns and small islands are feminine,” sprang into his mind as he drew the comparison, a rule from the book of Latin grammar resurfacing after many years. Over and over again his father had gone through the book with him. Hours spent face to face, weeks of testing, and all that had stayed with him was a couple of exceptions.

Translated from Dutch (by husband and wife, Arnold and Erica Pomerans), it would be a tremendous understatement to say that I am enjoying this book. The world he describes, past and present, I want to walk in it. In the constant and relatively quiet company of my cat companions, I hope to return to it to read a few more pages. Unlike most, this Monday morning I am keeping deliberately quiet and slow; last night I cut out collage pieces until it was almost 2am. The red indentations on my fingers tell me I have cut more than enough.

Today the room smells of mock orange blossom. One small branch of flowers snapped from the tree in the front garden, it doesn’t last long in a vase indoors and its petals drop almost immediately, but it smells of sweet citrus. It smells of idyll Sundays spent reading and tinkering and drawing and nattering, and that is just the effect I long to recreate today.

Thursday proved stressful, Friday productive, and the weekend sped by. Today is full of promise.

++ An afternoon edit, A skulk of foxes have arrived. ++