HIGH UP IN THE TREES

We are cutting and folding paper in the library.

{Blue sky and greenness, the State Library of Queensland, both outside and inside.}

Going away is good. Going away is very good. But returning home is far sweeter. Welcomed with tails in the air by three neighbourhood cats sporting ginger coats of fur, as I made my way, keys in hand, to the front door, I thought how lucky I am to have such a fine feline welcoming committee. Once inside, Omar and Olive circled the legs in desire to be picked up, cuddled and fed, plenty. And to the back garden, Mishii and Bob (a long-haired and occasional visitor) keen for cat biscuits and an under-chin nuzzle.

Louise and I have been away. A fleeting trip in the direction of north, we have been to Brisbane to talk of our artists’ books and conduct a one-day bookbinding workshop. Some two hours by plane, we arrived to warmth and light and made beeline to the beautiful new State Library.

(Print detail above, The best cover still proved Egyptian artefacts and treasure from Troy. A collaborative print of ours, available here.)

{A smooth-tailed tree shrew in search of a smooth-trunked tree.}

{Regarding the Devil’s thumb.}

(Next time I am in Queensland or you are in Melbourne, Fliss, we shall have to meet up. Collecting macadamia nuts, I agree, looks and sounds far preferable to the visuals on the telly. And, so, too, is this.)

Show me your animals, be they furred or feathered or scaled.

{Searching for a way out. Collage on a photograph sent to me by Alexandra Hedberg.}

I am sure to have aired this before. Of all of the fables attributed to Aesop I resemble the grasshopper most. For a long time (still) I laboured under the mistaken belief that I was a forward planning and efficient ant preparing “for the days of necessity”. In both broadest and narrowest sense, I am in short supply of these character traits. I leave a great many things to the last minute, most to all of the time. Work deadlines in particular. Packing a suitcase, writing an exhibition proposal, shopping for groceries… these and other things I do at the eleventh hour.

Are you a grasshopper too?

Assembled animal encounters from the week as it stands today…




{Pigeons sheltering from a downpour on the red signage of a local supermarket.}




{Elephants at the zoo, with C & R and their little one who is nearly 2.}




{Kangaroos keep watch and a peacock finds a sheltered spot to rest.}




{(Louise’s parents’ dog) Wilbur joins the fray for a period, tipping the house balancing scales in firm favour of its animal inhabitants. I belong to the minority. There are more animal occupants than human.}

Enjoy your Thursday, and GO HAWKS! for Saturday.

Hobgoblins pack and cats recover.

{No longer on the walls at Imp, as of today.}

It must be a fact universally acknowledged that what takes a long time to go up takes very little to come down. In what felt like a matter of minutes, we deinstalled our exhibition But for the moon nobody could see us. Framed pieces were wrapped in bubble wrap, postcard collages and drawings in tissue, and cabinets were emptied to reveal their linen-lined bases once more. Now all that remains in the space we inhabited for a sizable portion of September are a few nail holes in need of putty and two cabinets to collect (for three will not squeeze into a small car).  What took a tremendous amount of head scratching, chin rubbing and elbow grease to install, took moments to pack up.

Works sold shall be wrapped this evening for delivery to the gallery tomorrow and I shall enjoy finding space for the things we get to keep.  Finding room on the walls for some new things shall afford me the perfect opportunity to respond to a recent request to see what hangs on my walls (soon I shall, soon).




{Down comes Chin up, and don't look down.}






{Work to be wrapped in tissue and bubble wrap.}

+ Good news I have to share, friends. Stella is now at home with my parents. The vet drove her home late Sunday afternoon. She is still with a small tube inserted in the side of her neck and a string of staples in her jaw, but she is home. Her pink tongue lops out and Mum thinks she looks every inch the Frankenstein monster with the eye of Mad-Eye Moody. (They have been able to save her eye. It looks off to the side for the moment, perhaps permanently.) Stella is on the mend and will soon be back to eating mussels and sushi, I am sure of it.


{Stella's neighbours last week, a selection of.}

Happy Monday to all.

Turn the pages, a second time.

This Thursday evening, I have come to take you to John o’ Groats, though perhaps it looks a little different to how you had imagined it to look. The local inhabitants are larger than initially believed. Some are timid and others are adept climbers.

Once more, friends, I hope you like it.




























{All twelve scenic views.}

John o’ Groats: Just passing through.
An original artists’ book, collage on postcard images, 2008.

Good night.

+ For those of you interested, a detailed view at this and other recent work can be found here.

The patient she is on the mend.

I want to thank you all. All of you who left such considerate messages for my family and me. It was really very touching to know so many of you care, you are a dear and compassionate lot. I have been made keenly aware that my little family unit is a fragile thing. Stella’s injuries have knocked me sideways even though I am aware she will in time be fine. Her jaw broken in three separate spots – how can this be? She’s such a tiny grey thing. All fur and with the trot of a boxer, high on the ball of the foot.

She’s eager to come home. My Mum anticipates an uncooperative patient. I, myself, when I had my tonsils removed proved a poor patient. I was found guilty of putting my tablets in the vase of flowers that sat on my hospital bedside table. I refused to test the mechanics of my jaw and would not eat, for a time, and I caused my mother a great deal of grief doing so. I suspect Stella may also be guilty of a little tablet avoidance and artful trickery. She is currently being fed by tube. Cat food made into a paste and squirted down. Yes, she is keen to come home.

On lighter note, here are several recent collage pieces. I enjoy sharing them with you today.

{Feeling out of place in Switzerland.}


{Looking and not finding.}


{Closer to home things began to make greater sense.}

Enjoy your Wednesday.

+ For those of you interested, our store has recently been updated with artists' prints. You will find six new prints, each an edition of twenty, here.

Stella.

{Stella, in the spring of last year.}

Sometime Friday evening, my parents' cat little Stella was hit by a car. Adjacent from their house they found her by the side of the road, near to a lamppost, mewing in pain. Alive but badly injured, Stella has spent the weekend at the local veterinary clinic in the company of other injured animals being treated: a forlorn whippet with a fever, a cat who took an unfortunate tumble from a great height, and two dogs also injured on the road thanks to the carelessness of motorists.

It is more than likely she will lose an eye (for the moment her right eye is stitched up to prevent it from drying out) and her upper jaw needs wiring.

She will pull through and when she does she shall have the company of another one-eyed cat who resides several doors down from my parents' place. It shall be a street near to the ocean, with two one-eyed felines (that I know of) in residence. Betty and Stella, should they become friends (in my heart I know this to be unlikely), would form quite the duo. Between the two they shall have a left and right eye to afford them complete vision. This is a comforting thought and I think of it when I need to push from my mind the visual of my Mum finding her Stella by the roadside with her eye out of its socket and unable to stand.


{An aardvark tentatively crosses Lake Louise for seven years good luck. (Please, click to see a little larger.)}

Turn the pages.

This is one of my recent books shown from front cover to back. I thought you’d like a closer peek at it.

Le Havre: Just passing through.
An original artists' book, collage on postcard images, 2008.

(This book was given to me in its original state by Carolyn Fraser in May of last year. Thanks Carolyn for your generosity.)

I hope you like it.































Next week I'll take you to John O'Groats (the blue book on the right).

I am enjoying a quiet Thursday evening at home. The day has been busy and the weather warm. And to put a crown on the whole, I am eager to return to my pose of the bookworm on the floor.

Good night.

The night. The day. All is well.

{Making a circle, almost. A recent collage that currently hangs in the hallway of our show.}

Three and thirty is going to be a good age. Thirty-three, according to the wikipedia knowledge hutch, is a number signifying, in religious terms, good trouncing evil (such a thing proving news to me). It is also, I am to believe, the largest positive integer that can’t be expressed as a sum of different triangular numbers. It informs me that the number 33 is a Nigerian produced brand of beer, and the natural number following 32 and preceding 34. It may, with luck on my side, also be the year I cease reading silly facts and statistics when I ought to be focused on other things.


{Preceding my birthday, I enjoyed a night drive.}


{Snaking up the mountain ranges to Olinda.}


{Driving at night, there is little I prefer. Here is our destination.}


{A feast to mark the occasion.}


{We sat in the garden (at my parent’s) and looked at the renovations next door. A fence comes soon, we hope.}


{Home-cooked goodness best shared.}

+ Three views from the opening of But for the moon nobody could see us.

+ Two wordy pieces written about our current exhibition can be found here and here.

+ One very tempting feast recently consumed. (As always, thanks for the visuals, Shari)

+ The same thing viewed differently.


{Hold that line. This is the last collage postcard in a row of thirty-two that line the hallway at Imp.}

(Thank-you for all the celebratory cheer you have left for me to read in this space. I enjoy sharing such things with you and your friendship is a tremendous thing.)

06.09.1975

{Happy 33rd birthday to you, G.}

I have commandeered Gracia's spot high up in the trees to wish her many happy returns of the day.

From me and and all the elephants at the Melbourne Zoo, especially Namoi the Asian elephant.

xx

Menagerie by Moonlight.

The cats are in their favourite nest spots, the birds, Agatha and Claude, are loving being in their cage outdoors, the fish are happily nibbling at their new supply of green duckweed brought in from the pond, and I am feeling quiet and reflective and a little more sensitive than usual.

Today I thought I’d share with you a peek inside one of three of the cabinets from But for the moon nobody could see us. This cabinet has long housed diverse material, from Hawthorn footy memorabilia to fossils and specimens; it is now in our hands and home to a handful of our collaborative artists’ books. It sits in gallery 2 of Imp and I hope you like it.

We are exhibiting in both gallery spaces at Imp. Peek inside the other two cabinets, in the first gallery, over here (and see a little of the walls, too).

The ever-thoughtful Alexandra Hedberg sent a package of the most exquisite photographic ephemera to me prior to installing our exhibition. I hope to share with you a little more of what she kindly sent my way (Thank you Alexandra) soon. The black and white photos are beauty itself, and several can be seen in this particular cabinet.


{In gallery two, at Imp, our cabinet sits.}


{Filled with books recently made.}


{Lean in closer, friends.}


{Several editions of Objects gathered with care from recent reads I through V.}


{Le Havre: Just passing through and photographic ephemera and postcards collaged.}


{Is that a meerkat I see before me?}

(Thank you for your emails and comments most enthusiastic and encouraging; they serve as a real bright spot in my day.)

Moonlight fancies aside, my Mum’s handmade stuffies and new Belgian linen tote bags can be seen installed in the front window of a super sweet kids store in Olinda. My Little Menagerie features no less than twenty-two stuffed creatures with buttons for eyes and delightful stumpy tails and a collection of tote bags suspended from an overhanging branch. Be sure to pop along and see Dora Whiskers, Ted Turpin and Len Blue Ears. There is an opening for the display this evening and there will be lemonade!


{A menagerie for you to see.}


{My Mum's stuffies in totes.}


{Inside and it all looks swell.}

My Little Menagerie
3rd September - 13th October, 2008

MINE - Kids in Olinda
Shop 5, 540 Mount Dandenong Tourist Road
Olinda, Vic 3788

See more here.

(Thank you Brydie, for your brilliant book constructions and the opportunity to display my Mum’s handmade works at MINE – Kids in Olinda.)

Good morning spring.

Hello friends. How have you been? Was your weekend a merry one? Do share.

Hello Monday. You seem to come around quickly these days. Not that I mind, old friend. Well, maybe just a little.

Hello September. You’ve brought spring with you, I see… and soon I’ll be another year older. Soon I’ll be 33.

Today Louise and I have our artists’ book And We Stood Alone in the Silent Night to share with you. An edition of fifty, several copies can be found here, should you wish to call one your very own. And as always, further page peeks can be unlocked here.

Copies of this book can also be obtained from the lovely folk at the Greville Street Bookstore. On the counter you will find a handsome stash, and of course, head up the staircase and you can see the whole show (of which I will post more photos of shortly). There are postcard collages in the hallways, bears displaying sterling acts of balance, tigers on icebergs and common hamsters hitching rides on the back of big cats. There are watercolour drawings and there is even Vaslav Nijinsky caught mid leap on the page. I hope you like what you find.


{One, two, three... and all bejeweled.}


{When trying to collect things it was oft best to lie down and maximise surface area.}


{On the left, Huddled around its red legs both desired in equal proportion to sit on Kandinsky's chair.}


{On the left, An island to perfectly suit my mood today. On the right, Collecting all I could to impress the right kind of people, or so I thought.}


{Utterly unconvinced that this would work, I clung on.}


{Dragging me in the wrong direction.}


{Feeling a fool for bringing to the museum my own chair, I compounded the sensation by bringing along my provincial airs and graces.}

Thank you to those of you who came along on Saturday. And, thank you to those of you who left kind messages here. You are such a supportive bunch, I'd be lost without you.