HIGH UP IN THE TREES

Part of the weekend.

{But I just got here a minute ago. (vol III)}

Rainy, genteel, Sunday morning, I return to bed, still cloaked in sleep, having got up early to put the final additions to a collaged book of views of Padova, Northern Italy. It is a book Louise and I have each added elements to, and it is for a project for Milly Sleeping (further details of which I will pass on soon). Louise has drawn a Chukar Partridge in the Public Garden by Giotto’s Chapel and an Indian Runner by the Lodge of the Great Guard, and this morning I double-checked the placement of a Crab-eating Fox peeping from behind the astronomic observatory and a Stump-tailed Macaque passing by Garibaldi Square, as I wrote the story beneath the frame in pencil. All done in the quiet of the house, these last small additions and checks. Early starts like this are golden. It must be their leisurely pace. But now it is time to return to bed to read Five Bells by Gail Jones or perhaps another Agatha Christie. As yet, I do not know. Both seem a good way to enjoy the day ahead.
 
(That was the morning, the last summer’s morning, the last Sunday of February. It is now the late afternoon and autumn knocks at the door. I have almost finished reading Murder on the Orient Express. How was your day?)

In threes come good things.

{An aurora of polar bears I have dreamt of, a new zine by Louise.}




{Birds that have caught my eye in print, but I've never been lucky enough to see in reality, a new zine by Louise.}




{Five proud birds, a new zine by Louise.}

Wednesday failed to wear kid gloves. It afforded no soothing balm or tonic for its bitter taste of frustration. Yesterday, all things, seemingly regardless of my will, fashioned themselves pear shaped. Ballooning distortions and all else in between was the order of the day.
 
If, like me, you have the misfortune to find yourself ensnared by such a day ridiculous, perhaps you need your very own aurora of polar bears to coo in your ear. Let it be a lullaby of sorts, a pocket-sized little helper printed on lilac-hued paper. On the other hand, perhaps you need the aid of a string of five proud birds with chests puffed full. Alternatively, perhaps you need for that sleeve in your wallet, a small folded zine with a mockingbird in pencil drawn.

If so, head here, friend, do.

+ Waves of sleep: "As darkness falls and thoughts turn to slumber, waves of sleep wash over seagulls huddling against the elements. This is not poetry, but a discovery made by a scientist who has been studying sleep in bird colonies."

Someone’s in the bushes...

September 12, 1963
 
Dear you,
 
I’m sure I saw something fishy, something odd. Something that didn’t sit easily on my shoulders, something like a weight pressing. There, you see it, there! Someone’s in the bushes. Look! There’s a tail. And there—a pair of eyes! Are they playing hide and go seek, Japan’s mega fauna?
 
100, 99, 98, 97, 96… ready or not, I’m coming to find you.
 
Yours in pursuit,
X

+ This postcard tale features in volume II of But I just got here a minute ago. This postcard, like the previous, was kindly sent to me by Olivia. (Finally sending a little long-ago-promised something your way this very day, Olivia. Thanks once again. xo)

In awe of the natural world I know so little about...

Dear you,
 
The Malayan tapir, it must be noted, is stronger than initially thought to be. Here, Mt. Fuji prepares to be moved for the summer to Kampuchea. I think that was the general idea, or was it the other way round? What with this head cold, I could well have my facts in contrary ordering. All the same—can you imagine?
 
Yours in awe of the natural world I know so little about,
X
 
[Severe head cold perhaps reason for geographic muddle.]

Three unexpected letters.

{From Frips.}

It is a wonderful thing to receive during the day articles in the post. Delivered to green letterbox recently, a flurry of stamped delights from dear Lea, Thereza and Frips. Thank-you for brightening the temper of my mood, my friends.
 
From Lea, several photographs of richly hued scenes; from Thereza, a copy of her brilliant Magic Bottles (I’ll take a swig of Confidence with red fox stopper, if I may) amongst other things; and from Frips, a paper ephemera confection and postcards to collage upon. Truly touched by your kindness.


{From Lea and Thereza}

+ Having spoken of things coming in, it would be remiss not to offer thanks to everyone for your recent zine and print orders. This week, Louise and I have sent parcels to suburbs that lie nearby and across the seas to a number of places we would like to travel to or return one day.
 
+ As promised, a look at Sticky’s recent zine fair underground as collectivo29 played (hear them).
 
+ Lea Bolvig
+ Thereza Rowe
+ Ria Bauwens

Bonne nuit, my sweet...

Dear you,
 
A weakness of mine perhaps that is so. Playing with the things that don’t belong to me. Turning a boat round to point North when earlier it was bound South. I never knew, never dreamed it was your pleasure too. To nudge the scene for own humour, to master, to engineer a little grand confusion!
 
Yours in all tamed wickedness,
X
 
Bonne nuit, my sweet.

+ This postcard tale of mine features in volume I of But I just got here a minute ago. Save for the 'X' and the date of this post, it has little to do with St. Valentine's Day.

Take me to the fair.

{But I just got here a minute ago. (vol II)}

Come along do to today's zine fair and you will find this new zine, But I just got here a minute ago. (vol II), and others.

STICKY INSTITUTE'S ANNUAL ZINE FAIR
Saturday, 12th of February, 2011
Between 1–6pm

Degraves Street Subway
Under Flinders Street Station
Melbourne

+ The title for this series of zines has been plucked from three F. Scott Fitzgerald texts: The Great Gatsby ("'Listen,' said Tom, shaking him a little. 'I just got here a minute ago, from New York...'"), May Day, Tales from the Jazz Age ("'I saw him just a minute ago.' Edith started."), and The Beautiful and Damned ("The pretty girl in yellow looked around cautiously. 'She was here a minute ago. She had on a Russian-sable coat that must have cost a small fortune.'"). No surprises as to what I have been reading of late.

+ WHOOPS OF DELIGHT! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, LOUISE!

Sixfold.

{But I just got here a minute ago. (vol I)}

Our fixation with the inhabitants of the animal kingdom, our mania for the feathered birds from all pockets of wilderness, our fascination with travel and lust for adventure, why, it continues this evening sixfold for we’ve new zines to share with you. Louise has created three new zines in her series of folded animal and birds, and I have three new postcard collage zines (which bring together the postcard journey I have of late been taking you on).

Neither of us had intended to make a trio apiece, but there you have it. We hope you enjoy seeing these new zines. (More previews to come in the coming posts.)
 
By Louise
Birds that have caught my eye in print, but I've never been lucky enough to see in reality
An aurora of polar bears I have dreamt of
Five proud birds

By me
But I just got here a minute ago. (vol I)
But I just got here a minute ago. (vol II)
But I just got here a minute ago. (vol III)
 
All are available through our online store.

And especially for the collecting enthusiast, you can purchase Louise’s new zines in a bundle, One more than three.

You can also purchase my three new zines in a handmade box set.

(Don't forget to take a look at the some of things recently listed on sale too.)

Such simple silliness...

Dear you,
 
It was in Russia that I saw a Western brush wallaby of grotesque proportions playing with those coloured tops in the square. Sent them spinning, then switched them about, putting green ones where previous there had been red. Such simple silliness, it made me happy to see such a thing.
 
Yours in repeated rotation and good humour once more,
X

I recall what it is like to feel a giant...

Stored in my breast pocket and posted to you from Poland.
 
Dear you,
 
Darkness is a good cloak and here in Jersey, I can lick theatrical wounds and build self up from past failure. (Bright, less shadow—soon.) Moving about unseen in those first hours of new day, when most are tucked in bed, I recall what it is like to feel a giant. In the harbour I play with the strings of the boats, tying them in new formations to their mast.
 
Yours in mischievous self re-emerging,
X