The one and only art doll project. I can’t believe I ever started this. An all-consuming passion for about 15 minutes.
She had a name once, Long Ago and Far Away
For An Erasure
It was in the days when we walked those many blocks downtown and then across the bridge to the beaches of sand that marked the river as much as the current. In those days we did not count the blocks but walked them and so they were not many, or long, but the way to the river. And the Bridge was huge and colorless and arched itself backwards like a gymnast on the mat to span the river and boats and boathouses and beaches themselves and we did not count those steps or the stairs that went down, made of iron rails with open spaces that leapt up, until we reached the ground at the bottom and walked our heated and sweating bodies until our feet could wriggle themselves into the mud that was washed by the river. Cool and fine and timeless. Because we did not count the blocks or the steps and thought that our houses and the downtown and the river were one thing.
Erasure:
Many blocks downtown
many beaches of sand
the way to the river.
The bridge colorless and arched
made of iron with open spaces
until feet wriggle themselves into the mud
washed by the river.
Melting Tulip
Melting Tulip
So the melting tulip just withers and crawls into itself. Sad really. But and then, I’m not quitting. I’ll get a different flower(s) and will experiment that way. A fuller flower, with lots of pedals around it. Please note: No flower beds have been abused or destroyed in the making of these photos.
Frozen Tulip in March
- Frozen Tulip
- I froze the tulip to see what it would look like. It looks the same. So this is the photo of a failed photo. Although it is melting now, so maybe there will be melting water drops to capture.
Writing
From: Those Things That Were Not Said
The Mother had gotten quite strange. It didn’t matter that she forgot things so much as the problems it caused for others, especially the dog and the cat. The cat often complained to the dog that she had not gotten enough food. The dog never responded, just lay down on the floor to sleep. Sleep is the best thing to deal with matters of importance that cannot be solved. Or so the dog thought. Mother didn’t know if she agreed or disagreed. It didn’t matter because she forgot.
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The grocer stood up from his counter stool at the cash register at the end of the day after counting all of the money in the till and matching it with the numbers that the register told him. He put on his hat and his coat and walked home to the house where his wife and son waited for him to have dinner so they could have it together. He smelled of celery and apples.
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I am waiting for the snow and the quiet so that I can lie on the couch and read of Uncle Wiggly and The Wind in the Willows. I liked it best when the automobile rose up on its hind wheels, I wanted that to happen in every one of the stories.
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There they were, in Iowa City. It is said that is the place where you can find your youth. They look for it in all the old bars where they went but the dust has been wiped off and the wood seats and benches and tables have been replaced. Someone else owns The Mill now. The owner from long ago cannot be found. You know, the one who raped your friend in the back room.
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