When other projects take over...

Ack! So busy this week. Work has been busy and tonight we're having an event for my lit&arts project that is looking to be pretty big. Hopefully the storm has calmed tomorrow.

In the meanwhile, enjoy these by artist Inga Birgis, whom I found through the lovely Tender Turning Quiet.









Listening to Freelance Whales.

Delayed

Ack! This week has been just crazy busy. I have all these posts done but not finalized, so this week might be coming to you next week. Ready for a posting frenzy? I know I am.

images

Just a Picture

Picture-A-Day:

K brought me coffee this morning. Sweet, especially the name he put on my cup. My office, morning.

Day Got Away

Ooh, got really busy today.

Picture-A-Day:
Busy reflection. My street, morning.

Have a good weekend!

Dig your hands in and see what comes out.

Ack! not dead, just very, very busy. I want to disappear down the rabbit hole, or a good book, or a forest of images. Luckily, there is the work of Su Blackwell to combine all three and at least perk up my senses and imagination again until the waters calm some.






What is it about cut paper and altered books I love so much? I suppose it has something to do with the idea of digging your hands into a text and pulling out phisical images that have thus far only existed in the hazy, intangible transfer between author and reader. Overthinking it? yeah, maybe.

Listening to Camera Obscura.

And for Poetry month, a little something to wake us (me) up:
Beat! Beat! Drums!
by Walt Whitman

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation,
Into the school where the scholar is studying,
Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with his bride,
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering his grain,
So fierce you whirr and pound you drums—so shrill you bugles blow.

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!
Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets;
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers must sleep in those beds,
No bargainers’ bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—would they continue?
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow.

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley—stop for no expostulation,
Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer,
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,
Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties,
Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses,
So strong you thump O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.