Undercurrent (whisper) [stab bound, hand-pulled monotypes, transfer-drawn text, thread]
t e x t (repeated)
The under-breath whisper that voice always lodged stuck in her head stuck between her teeth imagines plans an escape past refuse-to-listen ears on turned-away heads of gaping mouths mouths full of words words that cannot hear her murmurs of delight of ordinary yes and yes.
t e x t (repeated)
The under-breath whisper that voice always lodged stuck in her head stuck between her teeth imagines plans an escape past refuse-to-listen ears on turned-away heads of gaping mouths mouths full of words words that cannot hear her murmurs of delight of ordinary yes and yes.
Unheard [hand-pulled monotypes, transfer-drawn text, thread, and other elements]
t e x t
As anxious leaves swoon — and the foggy view tastes sweet — she walks up a mountain — (then) sits like a lady — to keep her words to herself
t e x t
As anxious leaves swoon — and the foggy view tastes sweet — she walks up a mountain — (then) sits like a lady — to keep her words to herself
Standing still in the distance [hand-pulled monotypes and polyester plate lithography (text pages)]
Just morning [hand-pulled monotypes, transfer-drawn text, thread]
t e x t
In the just morning of today as the | as the leaden sky retreats a distant | a distant gull screams while the scribe | the scribe catches truths from under the | from under the briney squall's breath.
t e x t
In the just morning of today as the | as the leaden sky retreats a distant | a distant gull screams while the scribe | the scribe catches truths from under the | from under the briney squall's breath.
Of thin ice [hand-pulled monotypes, transfer-drawn text, hand-stitching on various papers]
t e x t
She lived to become a little white sea—still—surrounding a shiver of thin ice.
t e x t
She lived to become a little white sea—still—surrounding a shiver of thin ice.
In uncertainty [hand-pulled monotypes, hand-stitching on paper and linen, ink]
Born of a storm [hand-pulled monotypes, transfer-drawn text, hand-stitching on paper]
t e x t
When the sky turned too ash for an autumn afternoon – the mother waved from the porch – watching the girl born with gills inhale the sea through her toes – as the father let go of her hand and she floated – toward the southern continent on swells of long perished storms.
t e x t
When the sky turned too ash for an autumn afternoon – the mother waved from the porch – watching the girl born with gills inhale the sea through her toes – as the father let go of her hand and she floated – toward the southern continent on swells of long perished storms.
Departure [hand-pulled monotypes, inkjet printing, hand-stitching on paper]
t e x t
The water wasn’t cold or clear but grey like her. She swam past the two boys in a canoe going nowhere. Floating on her back she saw a piece of the moon mark her place. She looked back toward the shore and understood how easy it was to disappear into the landscape. No one noticed she suddenly forgot how to swim.
t e x t
The water wasn’t cold or clear but grey like her. She swam past the two boys in a canoe going nowhere. Floating on her back she saw a piece of the moon mark her place. She looked back toward the shore and understood how easy it was to disappear into the landscape. No one noticed she suddenly forgot how to swim.
The White Out [crown binding, pages from a damaged copy of The White Continent (1950), paper, acrylic, waxed linen cord]
t e x t
On the globe in far southern latitudes, a wanderer migrates unknown distances, penetrating the weird white darkness veiled in light snow. It moves like an ignis fatuus through the winter waves of strong white draperies rustling curtains in the same curious form. The sound swells and fades like that of a silk dress of the Queen, somewhat evanescent, skirts that twist and zigzag in seemingly purposeless pattern. Then, her massive sinister wailings coming from nowhere with the milkiness of the fog on a white day, disintegrate in the sea and float through a woolly-white luster of heavy snowfall.
t e x t
On the globe in far southern latitudes, a wanderer migrates unknown distances, penetrating the weird white darkness veiled in light snow. It moves like an ignis fatuus through the winter waves of strong white draperies rustling curtains in the same curious form. The sound swells and fades like that of a silk dress of the Queen, somewhat evanescent, skirts that twist and zigzag in seemingly purposeless pattern. Then, her massive sinister wailings coming from nowhere with the milkiness of the fog on a white day, disintegrate in the sea and float through a woolly-white luster of heavy snowfall.
Archipelago [monotypes on paper, thread, handmade linen sack]
t e x t
Like the honest thread she pulled across her scratchy woollen hem, the still drowning islands stitched a broken path for her to swim another day.
t e x t
Like the honest thread she pulled across her scratchy woollen hem, the still drowning islands stitched a broken path for her to swim another day.
We Had the Hare for Dinner [vintage linen place mat, thread, wax paper bag, paper]
t e x t
The lobster screamed when the doorbell rang, and I went hungry again.
The goose screamed when the turkeys sighed, and I went hungry again.
The hare screamed when the terrier danced, and I went hungry again.
t e x t
The lobster screamed when the doorbell rang, and I went hungry again.
The goose screamed when the turkeys sighed, and I went hungry again.
The hare screamed when the terrier danced, and I went hungry again.
Envelop [typewritten letter on silk, thread]
Finders Keepers [inkjet printed photographs on vintage thesaurus pages and vellum, thread]
Still [cardboard slide mounts, digital photos, cotton, thread]
Lament [linen and cotton yarn, inkjet printed text from vintage thesaurus on muslin, silk thread; handmade cotton sack]
Exhuming Fannie [vintage quilt backing, muslin, cotton thread, snaps]
t e x t
Ribs: She smoothed her apron—taut—then she scraped the eggshells clean. Pelvis: She rolled her stockings—to her knees—then she stooped to set onions. Hands: She knotted cotton string—into lace—then she washed her feet in the dishpan. Spine: She wore silk—once—and then she made home.
t e x t
Ribs: She smoothed her apron—taut—then she scraped the eggshells clean. Pelvis: She rolled her stockings—to her knees—then she stooped to set onions. Hands: She knotted cotton string—into lace—then she washed her feet in the dishpan. Spine: She wore silk—once—and then she made home.
View from this side [vintage cardboard slide mounts, pinhole photographs, muslin, thread]
My books and book-like objects utilize a wide-range of forms and are most often one-of-a-kind pieces that are created spontaneously. I embrace the belief that artist's books are for the individual to develop an aesthetic and communicate a story using common materials. Worn fabrics, hand-stitching, up-cycled paper, and original text are typical in my books. My intent is to elevate common or “honest” materials into visually appealing and widely accessible work.
Photos: Jim Gipe, Pivot Media.
Photos: Jim Gipe, Pivot Media.