HIGH UP IN THE TREES

The eternal verity: look the part and they’ll never know. ..

{End of day Raffles ramble.}

Dear you,

Now that I am here at long last the very thing I’ve dreamt of at irregular intervals is not quite as I’d expected it to be. Raffles. Singapore. A Hotel. A destination. Long in my mind. Now an actuality. I am writing this to you from my shaded spot beneath the trees. Summer’s already browned lawn. Late haze of day. I’m soon headed for the hotel’s hair salon. To be quietly brought into follicular line with a focused snip, snip, snip. With a little fussing, I may, just may, be granted entry to the bar and ballroom. The eternal verity: look the part and they’ll never know.


Yours seeking to hoodwink first,
X

The spatial arrangement.

{Mapping out space on the Queen's Birthday long weekend.}

map |map|
noun
1 a diagrammatic representation of an area of land or sea showing physical features, cities, roads, etc.: a street map.
• a two-dimensional representation of the positions of stars or other astronomical objects.
• a diagram or collection of postcard collages showing the spatial arrangement of works on a gallery wall: a map to make the installation process smooth.



An obsession with right angles revealed. I am Poirot neatening the paper spills on the mantel (The Mysterious Affair at Styles).

Quite my favourite part, the laying out of work made but not for longest time seen. From one small white box for transportation’s ease comes over 450 postcard collages. Within, all  are wrapped in column bundles of seven horizontals or five verticals. Together, they make one long grid, and I am looking forward to installing this work once more (but with variation and addition) come August as part of an exhibition, All breathing in heaven.

In a room where normally I do yoga, over recent long weekend I was able to lay out this work and make plans to add in 28 new postcard collages (which specifially tip their hat at Geelong) to the meld. The room alive with different Dogs, Cats, Cows, Eagles, and Camels, and the floor littered with paper order where normally there are purple mats. Having quiet play of such a space proved great for the head. Time to think as plans were drawn. (Time, as in below you'll see, to sit and post previews to instagram too.) And now our map is complete.

Gracia Haby, Louise Jennison, Stephen Wickham
All breathing in heaven
Saturday 17th of August – Sunday 13th of October, 2013
Geelong region artists program
Geelong Gallery, Little Malop Street, Geelong




















{Everything in correct position.}

Particulars:
70 columns (57 horizontal (7 postcards high), 13 vertical (5 postcards high))
(of) 464 postcard collages
(with) 70 printed labels with each collage's title
12.27 metres in length
1.1 metres in height
928 nails (required to hang)

Hours to install:
Iimpossible to predict

+ Upon related note, within this temporary makeshift box, twelve of Louise's exquisitely drawn Southern Hemisphere birds reside. For the month of April, a Yellow-fronted Woodpecker (Melanerpes flavifrons). For September, one Superb Fruit-Dove (Ptilinopus superbus). And finally, in this visual peep, November's bird, in ring of a kelp, an Antarctic Tern (Sterna vittate).

+ To those of you heading to Vanguard, The Australian Ballet's triple bill, triple thrill, this evening, I wish you a wonderful experience. It is a true celebration of the physical form and how it can move, convulse, be powerful, be languid, be pulled like marionette or swim in defiance of gravity. It still tugs at my heart. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Light stepping, rock hopping...

{A whole new kind of formation.}

Dear you,

“Sing a song of sunbeams. Showing the blue’s we’re busy.” Rock top with friends. We’re grabbing hold of this delicious sensation. Infecting ourselves with dose of Yippee. Light stepping. Rock hopping. Bass slapping. In the Grand Canyon, take two. Squinting in the sun. Grimace makes grin. And it looks like we’re smiling even if we’re not. With a fascinating, abrupt ending.

Yours loon grinning at the birdie,
X

+ Budding zoologist: The terrapin in the postcard collage is a Diamondback (Malaclemys terrapin), the only North American emylid adapted for life in brackish and salt water. It is known for its strong large hind limbs that enable it to be such a fast-swimming turtle. They like to spend their days on mud-flats or tidal marshes, feeding upon snails, clams, and worms.


{Balanchine's The Four Temperaments.}

+ Louise and I, two Melancholic Temperaments, are very much looking forward to Vanguard (luck fortunate! twice apiece!), key works from ballet’s game-changers: Balanchine, Kylián, McGregor, and ask which of the temperaments are you?
+ How the Four Temperaments used to dress, by Lorelei Vashti on Behind Ballet

End of the line! Hotel Terminus...

{Quietly waiting.}

Dear you,

A poem by Emerson. Terminus. A monospaced bitmap font easy on fatigued eyes, designed by Dimitar Zhekov. Last stop! A Roman divinity presiding over boundaries and frontiers. End of the line! Hotel Terminus. No reservation costs, and guest parking is available for a surcharge. Here I sit. In Oslo. Awaiting sighting of the scarred Risso’s Dolphin (Grampus griseus). Little is known of this dolphin, save its weakness for squid. But I’ve more than temptation snacks to woo. In my skill set the oft undervalued virtue of patience. He will come. I will wait.

Yours bobbing in deep waters,
X

+ Quietly working
+ Louise's For Martha is on display as part of the 2013 Libris Awards: Australian Artists' Book Prize

Travelling from head to tail.

{Genova one way, Johannesburg the other.}

A deliciously quiet evening at week's end provides me with the perfect chance to introduce you to a recent zine that brings together collages from two independent artists' books of mine. This zine is a bound tête-bêche (from the French meaning "head-to-toe", and also often referred to as upside-down or reversible binding, it is a relative of dos-à-dos). You can begin your journey in Genova before flipping over to Johannesburg. Or vice versa, my friends. It's up to you.

In Genova, from the artists' book Before all colour faded (Ricordo di Genova), you will discover that washing lines make great pathways for those nimble of foot and whom are not afraid of heights. Whilst in Johannesburg, in the artists' book In search of a time the heart does not recall (Souvenir of Johannesburg), you may sight Diana monkeys eager for the old joys in Pritchard Street.

With a familiar character at the feet (I give you, Percy), and a volcano in the background (Guilfoyle's Volcano built in 1876, Royal Botanic Gardens), here is a closer look at Genova to Johannesburg (Johannesburg to Genova):












{Scenes from Genova and Johannesburg in hand at the Royal Botanic Gardens.}

+ You can purchase a copy of this zine for $8 through our online store

+ Some unusual and exquisite bindings, Chetlam's Library
+ A Captive Diana Monkey on a Wall against a Landscape with Four Colorful Birds in the Sky by the Dutch artists Melchicor d' Hondecoeter, 1690 (Toledo Museum of Art)
+ A charming tortoiseshell box for snuff or sweets with a micromosaic of an animated monkey clasping a cherry by the Italian artist Giacomo Raffaelli, 1794 (Toledo Museum of Art)
+ Looking very much forward to receiving my copy of 1110/5

Tether me to the earth. I feel giddy.

{Reading symbols formed.}

Dear you,

It’s in the tea. In the leaves of the tea. In the beverage I rarely drink. Such prophesy! Unbeknownst happiness. Love. Light. Travel. What joy this reads! Good fortune twined to the discovery of an undeveloped talent. Such news delivered by a man with rosy cheeks belonging to a cherub! Tether me to the earth. I feel giddy. I feel weightless. I feel as though at any moment I could take flight. Ascend! Upwards! Hit my head on the roof of the sky. Be this true? What are the exquisite chances? I’ll take it, if only for an hour. I will believe those symbols at the bottom of cup true. Much happiness. Love dear. Pleasant conditions. A mug I’d be to refuse.

Yours bewilderingly ecstatic and with singing heart,
X

+ The Sticky Annual Zine Fair takes place this Sunday at the Melbourne Town Hall from 12noon until 5pm. Dear ones in Melbourne, hope to see you there.

+ A through the keyhole peep at a small part of a collage especially for MIEL books. One of a trio of new images, Louise and I look forward to revealing more about this project soon.

Straight as an arrow. Lie on the ground in a perfect line.

{A glittering cloak of snow too hard to refuse.}

Dear you,

Straight as an arrow. Lie on the ground in a perfect line. Look up at the night sky above. At the moon flanked by its stars that twinkle and flicker. Look up at that which stretches onward for as far as imaginable and know what it is to feel but a small part of something majestic and massive and all encompassing. But do so with a cloth between you and earth, for it is cold out of an evening and liable to make the thoughts in thaw run a little grand.

Yours musing on the universe and that which may or may not lie beyond, whist simultaneously trying to box-up my backyard inner-philosopher,
X

Yesterday’s lonely suit feels unworn.

{Practising Emerson's advice.}

Dear you,

No longer do I need to converse with an upturned broom head leaning against the laundry door. (Spare me your cries of ‘Wilson’. Had not the madness of a desert-island Hanks to me. Yet, I grant you. Yet. But you’ll note I say ‘had’ not ‘have’. I feel it’s all behind me. Past tense, you see. Besides, my friends of decidedly made-up variety never took on appearance of a ball with an imprinted hand for a face. My fruit in the kitchen never featured a series of tiny faces drawn with pen upon their pitted or smooth surfaces. No unmistakable personalisation of objects for me. Now, where was I?) Found delicious companionship today and spoke until I was hoarse. Yesterday’s lonely suit feels unworn. I feel much restored to vim and vigour wellness stakes. Much like my old self. The old self, that is, that I prefer to share.

Yours never tired of a chinwag,
X

Yours making humorous-curious long shadows in the late afternoon...

{Mindful not to let slip my interloper status, I ventured into town.}

Dear you, 

Contentment can be found in the little things. The walk with no purpose. Just a walk, an amble, a stroll for sake just of a stroll. One foot in front of the other, outcome uncertain. Wandering. Rambling. Sauntering. Impossible to grow weary of perambulating. Be it somewhere new or somewhere familiar. The joy of it, the happiness, this lies in the just-walking-about-ness of it all. This is what I will later remember when at home I am tucked. Not those big occasions, but the little ones. The little happinesses.  

Yours making humorous-curious long shadows in the late afternoon thus ensuring that this moment is one to tuck in close to the heart,
X

+ An American kestrel on the page with friends soon to join
+ Raw. Fun. End. Now. (Máximo Tuja)
+ Mythology of Blue
+ Reading to you in Japanese (50 Watts)
+ That which was received late last year (thank-you Hila)

But underneath the feathers and inside my head, a different story reads...

{The Berlin Glide.}

Dear you,

To outward view, I daresay things look closer to as they ought than they do from within. Daresay I look content. At peace. A tourist in Berlin much like any other. But underneath the feathers and inside my head, a different story reads. I am thinking of all those things I’d like to one day do but fear the clock is against me. My wings take longer to warm up now. Little difference the weather makes to my flap, flap, flap, smooth flight. Thankfully, am something of a terrific belly glider. An orchestra of tiny wheels beneath my frame make this an ease I've been quick to master. Stand too close and you might hear them, the spinning of my tiny wheels that are capable of supporting my black-feathered frame as I roll about the metrop’. I don’t squeak like that man of tin made, but I can make a passer-by curious if I’m not well oiled for the day’s sightseeing activities. Eyebrows rise to meet the hairline above at sounds hard to pinpoint. This is a time-honoured truth. One of many.

Yours rolling freely toward the inevitable end,
X

+ January's beautiful arrival

Moonlight Effect.

{Simple pleasure by moonlight.}

Dear you,

Rendered, this evening, immobile. Painted the colour forlorn. The very picture of despondency. To other eyes, it may appear a magical moonlit evening. Indeed the postcard’s printed title declares this Moonlight Effect the third in a series of presumed splendid moonlight evenings. I failed to chance on the first and the second, and know not if there is a fourth, but I can easily imagine them perfect for those making wishes or nuzzling the neck of some beloved. However, to me this night is one in which can only hang the head. Flopped. Pooped. Despondent.

Struck lacklustre quite out of the blue,
X

+ The original postcard was exhibited earlier in the year as part of By This Unwinking Night, and will soon become part of a new Dear You postcard zine.

+ A closer look at Louise and my most recent artists' book, Beneath the Screen of Closed Eyelids (as part of our current display, Charms of the Gloaming, in the window of Port Jackson Press Print Room).
+ Could be ten little artworks.
+ Two new zines are soon to land (Collection and The Glimmer of Armour) and are available for pre order.

That brilliant star in us all somewhere.

{Without a backward look.}

Dear you,
 
Summoned hither to this peculiar place. Some inner voice, I expect, for it is quite unlike anywhere I’ve previous been. Peaks and colour electrical, this is magical Monaco burning bright day and night. If ever was a place in which to birth the dancing star made of our own internal chaos and workings, why then that brilliant star in us all somewhere, surely this is the place. As I familiarise myself with the tall geography and coloured rocks, my eyes are pulled wide open. Don’t miss a clue, my mantra.
 
Perhaps, should all else fail, I’ll discover someone else’s star mislaid and calling home temporarily a dry and rocky crop. The star of genius, found in a rock garden overgrown!
 
Yours thinking of myself much more than is remedy for sanity (but what is that anyway?),
X

+ There were fireworks: Louise takes you to The Australian Ballet's recent 50th Anniversary Gala. It was, as Louise says, the stuff of magic.

+ The original postcard was exhibited earlier in the year as part of By This Unwinking Night, and will soon become part of a new Dear You postcard zine.