high up in the trees

coins in every room

After a long pause I come bearing many displaced animals. New collages on recently acquired postcards, a host of animals not in their usual environs.

An Australian potoroo in Russia narrowly avoids a collision.

{Glued to the one spot.}

The somewhat elusive spectacled bear passed by la Statue de Jeanne d’Arc in Orléans, relatively unnoticed.

{It’s getting dark and still I have no shelter.}

(Did you know that the spectacled bear is the only species of bear in South America and is a valuable dispenser of seeds? Neither did I.)

A Springbok carrying quite the load for such spindly legs, strolls through Suva Harbour, Fiji. A social herbivore with a fondness for high bouncing leaps with or without a heavy, precious load.

{Left or right, they all led to the one place.}

An African clawless otter in Japan takes in the sights at the Dan-no-ura, Shimonoseki.

{Which way to the daily ferry?}

(The African clawless otter has only small claws on its rear third and fourth toes, and its forefeet have no claws whatsoever. They use their digits instead to handle tasty prey. Logs, branches, and loose foliage in their shelters make for wonderful rolling opportunities for these clumsy-on-land otters.)

A legally protected sea otter in Bristenstock surveys his new surrounds and gives it the general thumbs up.

{Coins in every fountain.}

Before long I’ll be also popping up once again on Sew Green, perhaps with arms heavy with handy eco friendly tips on a super lean budget? But before I get to that, sunsets must be taken in en route to the movies to see yet another free screening. This time two tickets to The Namesake were ample reason to set foot out the front door.

{A sunset to make it all worthwhile.}

Since taking in this film I have a craving to not only read of Ashoke and Ashima in the book of the same name but also The Overcoat (Hear The Overcoat: By Nikolai Gogol - Performed in Russian here) and Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol (the namesake in question). Ah, but these things will have to wait for I am still journeying with Zoli Novotna through Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Austria, and “I will not, no, never call the crooked finger straight” (p.9). Recommended to me most enthusiastically by J, I can, at only the half way mark, heartily recommend Zoli by Colum McCann to each and every one of you, especially those amongst you who feel you “were meant for skies not ceilings” (p.19).

The last lines I read before this post…
“So here I am. I have walked all day and have come full circle, and am back in the vineyard once again. I could just as easily be anywhere else. I have spent another day walking, and what else is there to do? Nothing else. If there had been a pencil beneath me it would have made great, useless circles” (p.123).

(Go and find it on the shelves of your local library or head to your favourite bookstore.)

{Willy & Wally on their deck with a view.}

From rubbing the ears of Willy and Wally, the white haired studio assistants at M’s to meeting C & R’s new baby boy for the very first time (born at 1.11pm, 27th of March - CONGRATULATIONS! ♥)… it’s proving a very long and happily eventful week. Here's hoping yours was too.

picked up along the way

{They put their tails to good use and gave their heads a rest.}

{This isn't going to work out, is it?}

Things I have found or discovered over the course of the week:

- It’s a hard thing to use only 40 litres of water in 40 hours. I accepted the challenge placed at my bare feet by ABC radio and failed. Having announced my intentions over at Sew Green, I was hoping I would fare a little better.

- I found that I did not fully mangle the English language when speaking on a panel discussing The artist book as a collaborative medium as part of the SLV symposium over the weekend. (Here is essentially what LJ and I said, insert a rogue “umm” here and pause for breath there, and it is pretty much it in a nutshell. We love making artists’ books, for us, it’s a medium that holds us both equally transfixed. Be it concertina or bound by a skilled bookbinder, either way we’re happy.)

- I managed to get a word in amongst expert and seasoned talkers.

- Surprise postcards are the best kind. (Thank you, Carolyn)

- Ampersand Duck is not to be confused with Helvetica Swan nor Courier Sparrow either.

- Shells make for good listening companions, just ask this poorly Orangutang in recovery:

{Left or right, either way he was trapped.}

- Old friends from art school days can pop up out of the woodwork wearing finely knitted scarves, gloves and hats.

- If you sell your old i-mac for $56.00 to a friend it doesn’t feel like you are paying the City of Melbourne $56.00 for a parking fine. (Thanks, Shorty.)

- You could fit allot more in if sleep was not required.

- Seals make me smile, they really do:

My Mum's felt and fabric stuffies also make me smile:

- Sometimes friends email you at the very same time that you are sending an email their direction.

- Free tickets to Becoming Jane still don’t make it a good film.

- The sound of cats crunching on biscuits is one of my favourite sounds.

- The frog in yoga is a new favourite pose.

- Bookshelves really do look better arranged by either colour or scale.

- Bob Dylan has done a great many radio shows I’ve yet to hear; Trains, Texas, Colors, Luck, Moon, Halloween…

- New computers are wonderful! Hello remote control, hello inbuilt camera, hello mighty mouse. How you make everything good.

- Siamese cannot sleep on top of a flat screen no matter how hard they might try.

- Lightning really does strike:

{It no longer seemed to matter.}

... and two is company, it really is:

{Always side by side.}

Happy weekend one and all.

count the stars

And so another Friday has landed in my lap seemingly unannounced. As per my usual ways, Friday has rolled around too soon and I am lamenting the passing of yet another week. March, it has to be said, is slipping through my fingers and I’ve still so much to do.

What I have done of late, all sorrowful moaning aside, is rebuild our entire web site, all 164 pages of it. Built with more photos of our artists’ books and many zines so you can get an actual sense of them because after all, they’re meant to be handled, pawed over and leafed through. You'll also find my new zine Postcards from... If we stand very still, no one will notice, a B&W number, 24 pages long featuring many of the collaged postcards you’ve been catching sight of here, plus Louise's new green zine spectacular, How to be... (a little more green).

{Are we there yet? (from the new zine)}

{He'd taken a wrong turn somewhere along the line.}

With the site completed, a treat was in order, The Complete Works of Yuri Norstein, which includes his salute to the paintings of the Russian and European avant-garde, complete with Chagall’s angel glimpsed flying over a holiday parade towards the end, October 25th – First Day (1968), Battle of Kerjenets (1971), Fox and Rabbit (1973), Heron and Crane (1974), Hedgehog in the Fog (1975) and Tale of Tales (1978). I first fell in love with Hedgehog in the Fog thanks to Alyssa, way back at the start of the year. Since being pointed towards this lyrical animation that has captured my heart so, I have fallen hook, line and sinker… and my yellow bucket of worms too. Now I know what the Hedgehog is saying, that he is off to meet his friend the bear cub so that they can sit and count the stars by a fire with juniper twigs "for that smoky smell". I know now that the Hedgehog exclaims "What a weirdo!" upon being followed by a large hooting owl.

I have been so excited to receive this dvd in the post (thanks to the folk at Russiandvd.com) for I now have a translation to the Russian narration. So many lines so beautiful…

"I wonder," thought the Hedgehog, "if the horse lies down to sleep, will it choke in the fog?"
And slowly he began to make his way down hill to get into the fog… and see for himself… what it was like inside there.

Thus far I have only watched two others, October 25th – First Day and Fox and Rabbit. I am saving the remaining ones, as well as the documentary for a little later on, though I don’t think my plan will last all that long. After watching a crafty fox whose house of ice, her crystal palace, melts with the arrival of spring, I am eager to watch the remaining animated films. I have been introduced to a grey wolf, Misha the bear with flowers around the ears, a bull and a rooster in red boots. I have seen a rabbit evicted from his wooden hut by a cunning fox in a skirt… "The woebegone rabbit found himself alone again, crying in the middle of nowhere" … and I want to see more.

(Watch Winter Days for a little more here...)

{Once more inside the Metropolitan.}

From Norstein to a favourite Finnish filmmaker, Aki Kaurismäki's The Man Without a Past. Sometimes there is nothing better than watching a dvd late at night, uninterrupted. Louise is now pining for a dog like Hannibal and I rather think I’d fancy that “working juke-box stocked with R&B and Blind Lemon Jefferson Blues”. I suspect neither of us are alone. This beautiful, humorous film, full of poetic answers to questions, is one of my favourites to watch.

To the man installing power to M’s new container train home,
- What do I owe you?
- If you see me face down in the gutter, turn me onto my back.

(Discover a little more here and here... some weekend viewing perhaps?)

Happy weekend, my friends, I’m off now to discover, just who is Guido Valdez.

green beginnings

{Good fortune on the horizon.}

The start of a new week and the launch of a new collaborative, oft referred to and now no longer secret, blog. Today is launch day. Kick off, tee off, call it what you will. A public holiday here and the last day of a long, three-day weekend, Monday the 12th of March sees Sew Green take official shape. A green blog of like souls and many familiar faces, plus a few new ones too.

Meet the gang…
Book loving Shari, Hayley, Nicola, Tracy, Ash, Ms. Pea, Measure twice, cut once, Lisa S, Cindy, Bug Biologist Bugheart, and of course Shash, who started this whole project, and last but by no means least, Louise, my fellow collaborative chum. Eleven plus me.

Please head across, explore and help our collaborative blog find its footing lest it should topple. In the coming few days, weeks, months, you can expect to find green tips, green resources, green links and all manner of viridian hued ideas and ideals. Everything is coming up a delightful shade of green. Why, it’s just like the Emerald City in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. That and The Good Life all rolled into one. I feel every bit like Barbara Good (Felicity Kendal) from The Good Life, though I look nor dress nothing like her.

Do come and watch it grow and take shape. It’s taking on a somewhat organic shape at the present… who knows what it will transform into... a forest, a lush valley or a jungle? A fondness for neither the colour green nor deft sewing skills are needed, so come across for a wander. I, myself, only possess a fondness for all shades of green, I’ve yet to find my ease with a needle and thread.

{It made for a different vantage point.}

{Hurry, it's getting dark.}

{For Ethel.}

And with that introduction I must away, I’m in the midst of further self imposed, new projects... a complete overhaul of our web site (soon to be revealed, with a bit of luck and time on my side), and a new postcard zine that is also very nearly finished. I leave you with these handful of collages and trusty, very trusty, Sew Green hands. More soon… I’ve been a little absent from this space a little too long now and I miss it.

{Collaborative artists' book, The kingdom of the blue poppy - as made for Sinclare, 2001.}

{Collaborative artists' book, Snug as a bug in a rug, 2001.}

{Collaborative artists' book, The Case of the Lost Aviary, 2005.}

with a pail of whitewash

{We thought we knew a great deal, but really we knew nothing.}

{If only the Northern Hopping Mouse thought to look behind him.}

March, eight days in, is shaping up to be a month of highs and lows, and of odd jobs to complete. It might not be spring here in the southern hemisphere but this autumn is finding me in a decidedly spring clean like state. A fly wire screen door that had been clawed by a clowder of cats, both ours and passing guests, has been replaced, walls in both the kitchen and laundry area have been scrubbed, and recently washed towels that had been piling high around me have finally been put where they ought, not left in wonky piles by the bookshelf, a fluffy metropolis of white terry towelling. A wooden door once scraped and gnawed by Wilbur (lj’s parent’s little white hound) in a desperate bid to escape our bathroom mid storm whilst we were minding him, has finally been puttied up (albeit a little lumpily) and received a fresh lick of paint. It now, I am pleased to say, no longer looks like a door fit for the rooms of a veterinary surgeon. Claw marks have been smoothed over and the timber doorframe and all in general, is looking a little closer to order.

{Everything that reminds me of you makes me unbelievably sad.}

{The things we left behind.}

Sugar soap, bi-carb soda and a bottle of Black & Gold vinegar have been my friends of late and together we have got supa glue on our thumbs and a fair amount of dust and lint on our bare heels. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I feel every inch like Mole from Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows. I have cleaned, cleared, scrubbed and corrected my burrow, and tomorrow I’m ready to meet my friend the Rat. Or, at the very least, commence a new project!

“The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing.”
The Wind in the Willows (1908)

Plus…
My owl companions may have avoided the parking fine from the portly ticket inspector that I did not, however they still landed themselves in Trouble magazine (Issue 33, March).

And in the pages of N.E.E.T. magazine you’ll find one of our hammer & daisy concertina journals (via modamuse) featured on a page of pattern. Leaf electronically a few pages further and you’ll find Lisa C’s work on the walls, as well as a whole host of covetable things.

Hear LJ and I gabbling away as part of a symposium at the State Library of Victoria, How I entered there I cannot truely say, Collaborative works from the ANU Edition + Artist Book Studio, Words and Images: Examining the artist book.

Back Monday with a new secret collaborative blog project to be revealed and with a bit of luck, two new zines tucked under my wing. I leave you with a rabble of rats drinking milk. Happy weekend (long or otherwise)!

(Psst... Can’t find yourself or others in the sidebar? Why, it’s now over here… there were simply too many for a sidebar so find blog links now on there very own page. If I've missed you out please let me know.)

honey bear, be mine

{A dingo strikes it lucky.}

Playing music seems to silence the hounds next door. It took me a little while to cotton on to this and, to be fair, it doesn’t always work but oh, when it does, the quiet it affords me is so very worth it. The two dogs that live next door, with an owner apiece, I have yet to clap eyes upon but I can hear them just fine. I know when they are in their lounge, I know when they are in their garden, and I know when they are yapping at whatever soul has walked past their house. Their ceaseless barking tells me they are very much alive and kicking on all four paws. Their yapping ways fill almost every room of our terrace house, indoors and out. So to discover that a little George Washingmachine crooning Let’s Face the Music and Dance at 8am soothes them, that Taraf de Haïdouks’ Balada Conducatorolui silences them at 9am, is good news as far as I’m concerned. I prefer to work in silence however I think I could tailor my ways, and it sure beats hollering at the adjoining wall, Shut up! as though I were Stanley Kowalski yelling for his Stella. There I would stand, looking somewhat crazed, shouting at the walls for a little peace and quiet, and when that failed, I would reason with them, plead with them, as though they cared. Muttering at dogs barking the other side of the wall does not make for a tranquil start to the day nor peaceful end to the night.

This morning while their owners are out, the dogs are listening to a little Les Primitifs Du Futur. I think I’ll follow it up with a little bit of Amadou & Mariam. Of course the music may not be the reason for their silence, perhaps I just can’t hear them over my own din, or perhaps it sends them to another room to escape my musical selection, either way it will save me from looking a little sleep deprived, a little like the woman I purchased this beautiful brown ceramic bear from. In a shop front window of her house she places a tableau of items for sale, each with a small hand-written price tag and instructions to knock loudly on the front door if you are interested in any of her mixed bag of second-hand wares. In the window a large black plastic bear (not for sale) sports necklaces and silk scarves from the 1950s, they dangle from his limbs. Alongside said bear, you’ll find an art deco folding chair and various pieces of crockery from the 60s and 70s. Finding a brown prowling bear complete with a honey splodge on the back, and a price sticker that was agreeable, well, I had to knock. Two times I tried in vain but the following day, true to the saying, third time's a charm, she answered the door.

{Not your average bear.}

She answered her door looking like someone who lives next door to barking dogs. She looked like me. A mirror image. She looked as though she hadn’t slept, as though the light outside her front door was too bright for her eyes. She didn’t have dogs next door, barking with barely a pause for breath, to prevent her from slumbering late in the mornings after long nights. No, she lived next door to a house that only the night before had burnt down. And I must admit, in my eagerness to get to the bear, I didn’t even notice the house all black guts spewing forth and concaved tin veranda. Right past it I had walked in a blind haze to get to the bear before someone else knocked on the door with a red note clasped in their hands.

With the bear now home guarding a blue stone plastique, I feel I have created a collage three-dimensional.

Further new collages for you to see… (from Mailbox 141).

{It was not the objects that bewitched him, it was the order in which they were arranged.}

{It produced what no other refractory in Beirut could.}

{He travelled for some time without incident.}

Plus,
I’m rather fond of snails as it is but I am especially fond of snails bearing mail tucked high up in their shells. (Thank you, Crust Station ♥ Thank you, Frips ♥)

{From Crust Station, plus much more. Thanks.}

Two unexpected postal treats have come Louise and my direction. Embroidered and named pouches (complete with owl and heart gems), a Japanese cup, and floral paper ephemera, all arrived from the UK in a box stamped Royal Mail. And from Belgium, the paper trail continues… bugs, tigers, hand drawn, inky cats and a small zebra on the cover of a silvery blank book... like travel companions in an envelope covered in birds, small folk and cartoon chipmunks.

(Oh, and mystery mail sender... I haven't forgotten you.)

{From Frips. Thanks.}

Happy weekend all... see you Monday.

{A ticket from the travels of another. The last time I was in Berlin it was 2002.}