HIGH UP IN THE TREES

The curious crossing of the greylag goose.

{An original postcard sent to Picture This: Postcards and Letters Beyond Text.}

January 10, 1957

Dear you,

Awoken early. The sound of large feet padding about on balcony below my rooms overlooking watery expanse upon watery expanse. Venice, expect water. Expect many things. But, should you be lucky, as I was, peep out from behind curtain of a morning and you may see the curious crossing of the greylag goose by gondola. Perched as though anxious not to topple watercraft steered by human aid, it looks most inelegant yet charming. A sight to behold! A sight most magical to start day! Where they were bound, I’ve no idea. Dozing back to sleep, I fancied the Swiss Alps.

Yours in feathers and webbing,
X

+ This particular postcard of mine played its paper and ink part in Picture This: Postcards and Letters Beyond Text.


The Creativity Zone
Pevensey III,
Room no. Pevensey 3C7,
University of Sussex
United Kingdom

This is for you.

{On a clear night such as this I sit and watch the lights.}


{We charmed occasional wanderers.}


{An open nest proved safest of all.}


{There, a wild sequester’d nook for us both.}

Leafing through The Natural History of Selborne by Gilbert White, I hope one day that I am fortunate enough to receive written in pen such a line contained within a letter: “My musical friend, at whose house I am now visiting, has tried all the owls that are his near neighbours with a pitch-pipe, set at concert-pitch, and finds they all hoot in B flat. He will examine the nightingales next spring.” In B flat, fancy that. Tuck that information up your sleeve; you never know when it may come of whimsical use.

I mention letters by random way of introducing four new greeting cards made by Louise and me. For too long has it been since we released a new series of cards. To remedy this, we’ve created eight new designs, four of which you see above, and four of which you can see here.

They might make the perfect spot for you to pen to a friend your own naturalist observations. They might not. Let’s wait until they’re printed, shall we.

Pleasant surprise upon pleasant surprise...

July 9th

Dear you,
 
Looking in places many overlooked, I am rewarded for my efforts by pleasant surprise upon pleasant surprise. The things that get thrown away, the things discarded… why, you’d be amazed at what I find between the rocks amidst the flotsam and jetsam of humanity. A new toaster! A necklace of pearls with broken clasp! A pair of torn ladies hose!
 
Yours in reclaimed gumboots and merriment,
X

+ This particular postcard tale features in volume three of But I just got here a minute ago. You can lay claim to it here.

Città di Padova.

{(Handwritten in pencil, the text beneath this page detail reads: Early one morning, by the basilica of compatible shapes, I'm sure my eyes were not fooling one.}


{(Handwritten in pencil, the text beneath this page detail reads: I let the stump-tailed macaque be my guide, in the confusion of Garibaldi Square.}


{(Wrapped around this animal's foot and handwritten in pencil, the text beneath this page detail reads: Padova seemed unlike any other city I'd visited. It was the feel of the place. It was different, alright... and the air felt close.}

In Padova, looking for you is Louise and my contribution to the exhibition component of Loved & Lost a society, nay, an exhibition organised with neat efficiency and dash of good humour by Leah of Milly Sleeping.
 
Prepare to meet animals chiefly sanguine by nature, though not all, as you comb the streets of Northern Italy.

This work can be seen at Milly Sleeping. If you cannot make it there in person, you can turn the pages here.


{Over My Shoulder (V) from gracia & louise.}

+ Milly Sleeping, 157 Elgin Street, Carlton, Victoria
+ A set of three things

+ P R I M O E Z A's some small help for Japan

It seems silly, but I couldn’t fathom a way in...

March 11
 
(Sometime 1956)
 
Dear you,
 
It seems silly, but I couldn’t fathom a way in to the adjoining [awkwardly smudged by the writer to cover own misspelling] room, and, as no one was about in the Grand Gallery, I stood awkwardly until I deemed appropriate time had passed for me to leave the way I came. I bluffed my way through the conversation with door attendants, agreeing that yes, they really were fine examples of 16th century tapestries.
 
Yours with a mask worn to hide my tourist shame,
X

Suppressing a giggle with great difficulty...

March 10
 
(Sometime 1956)
 
Dear you,
 
Upon the shoulders of my companion, I was able to see the Foresth [misspelt on reverse by writer, perhaps owing to the letter t being enjoyable to strike through] mosaic decorations to better effect. The Golden Hall lit up, we saw, too, our reflected selves on the polished floor beneath our feet, all fuzzy about the edges, simplified and dull, like that of shadow puppets rather than a mirror. [Writer here uses the word ‘simplified’ in the sense of an outline hard to make out ergo the shadow play.] Our laughter rang out, bounced off the walls, and the attendants were none too pleased. Stockholm’s City Hall does not endorse tomfoolery.
 
Yours, suppressing a giggle with great difficulty,
X

Nighttime procession.

{A collage of ours especially for the good folk at the Ace Hotel.}

Let there be the wearing of masks. Let there be the music, fox friends, and utter abandon. Let there be noise, laughter, mayhem. Let lights shine bright, motivating forces soar, voodoo spirits rumble. When asked to create a collage for Flambeaux, Louise and I said yes, please, yes. At the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs, in benefit for the Preservation Hall Jazz Band Foundation, there is a mardi gras set to take place come the early days of the month of April.

Being asked to make a collage for this was flattering. Indeed, it seems everything I set to posting of late finds me chiming similar. But it is true nonetheless. It was flattering to be asked to work on a collage for this event, and setting the alarm to 4am (to converse in US time) added an unexpected magical thrill to it all.

+ Thanks for sharing, Christine. Seeing the meadow our work lands in, why, it is always swell.

One. Two. Three.

{One. From Olivia.}


{Two. From Amy.}


{Three. Louise and my piece, printed in The Big Issue.}

Believing that good things like company, I find they travel in threes. A commonly held belief, a proven truism! 1, 2, 3, post arrives from Olivia and Amy, and a collaborative collage piece is published. Three paper marvels both expected and unexpected.
 
From Olivia, giver of postcards previously seen here, treasure from her travels to Florence and her life in Cambridge. You will see them all put to use in some way here and in other things Louise and I do, some small collaborative piece perhaps and soon. The wait, it will not be long.
 
Following this came Amy’s pocket-sized aurora borealis. One for Louise and one for me. One “with a slightly better moon” as Amy penned and all by way of thanks for the joy Views in my pocket afforded.

(Truly, touched by both of these paper delights, am I. By your kindness too. Thanks Olivia. Thanks Amy.)
 
And following this, Louise and my collaborative piece appears in current The Big Issue (No 376, 15–28 March 2011). Our piece, In search of the unexpected, was one we made especially to run alongside the article on Laura van den Berg’s book What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us. Purchasing a couple of copies from my favourite vendor at the top of Collins Street in the city, the one near to my dentist, we leafed through the latest magazine together in search of Louise and my piece. And there it was. “That’s me,” I said, running my finger over my name. Big, printed, and hard to miss, there was our piece and it felt, it feels, little short of thrilling.

There ends for today my three thrills, three pleasures to bring a twinkle to my eye, three good things of paper.


{In search of the unexpected, a collaborative collage by Louise and me, 2011.}

I dined like a mayor of the people...

Dear you,
 
Labouring under the misapprehension that Swedes were a tall people and built their buildings thusly, I made my way to Stockholm’s Blue Hall. Seems along with sketchy details of Malayan tapir that I have been mislead once more. City Hall positively diminutive. That said, council spread was generous to a fault and I dined like a mayor of the people.
 
Yours in cramped nourishment,
X

Remembering your crème caramel and dreaming of home...

11th January, 1962

Dear you,
 
Perhaps it is not a case of not having sea legs, but have peculiar sensation travelling aboard this ocean craft. Have distinct impression I am being watched, tailed, shadowed. Of course, could all be in my head. It’s a watery pool up there between my ears, and occupies my thoughts this dread of the sea. Longing for land and easing anxiety, muffling the birds in my chest, as it were, with a little light deck grazing. Food long has been my pacifier.
 
Remembering your crème caramel and dreaming of home,
X

A salted caramel. Yes please.

{The makings of a magical evening.}


{Preparing to hang out the moon.}

Never one to decline generous offer to be, as it were, a fly on the wall, on Friday morning I found myself seated in the State Theatre watching members of the Australian Ballet in a class conducted on the stage. It was delightful to see, and the unexpected treat of it all coupled with the fact that it was not a part of my normal routine, why, it made it all the more so. Having been earlier in the week to see Madame Butterfly seems my week was to be one imbued with all things ballet. As the dancers warmed up, layers came off, and the pianist played on. That we were previously plied with coffee and a butterfly cakes laced with passionfruit was perhaps the delicious salt to the sweet as we watched those nimble and lithe contort and spring with seemingly effortless grace. Note the differences that are many, if you will, between those of us seated in the stalls and those on stage. As you do so, be so kind as to pass me a second butterfly cake and I’ll make good my promise not to sprinkle too many crumbs on the red carpeted floor beneath my feet.
 
Being privy to another world so different, if only for a morning, is something I enjoy. The thrill derived by dipping the toes into another reality, especially one I find so fascinating and its dedication and attention to detail I so admire, was intoxicating. Frederick Wiseman’s La Danse: Paris Opera Ballet remains a film I adore for this very reason. Gleaning vicarious pleasure through such experiences, performances, films and novels, it remains my hallmark.
 
(On side note, I am giving myself a good if ridiculous challenge this year. I wish to be able once more to do the splits.)
 
+ Continuing with theme of theatre, I am reading Bulgakov’s Black Snow, that “ultimate backstage novel”. (Is it cheating that my 52 books in a year challenge includes such tiddlers? Here, of course, I refer only to book’s length.)

+ Read Ballet and Alice: a good mix? By Hila Shachar (for Behind Ballet)

+ Koko Black offers very fine Salted Caramels should the title of this post have left you craving one.

The waters were kept orderly by a large golden bear...

1922
 
Dear you,
 
I’d heard it said that the waters were kept orderly by a large golden bear, but then one does hear such fantastical things abroad.
 
It’s all true, my dear, all true.
 
Blown from port,
X