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About six years ago I rented an old stone cottage in a country town. Shortly after I moved in I swept the cobwebs off the verandah. In a dusty corner I found the carcass of a little skink – a kind of lizard. Its body had mummified and was perfectly preserved. It was a curious find and I put it away in a box with other odd things I’ve found. Recently I came across it again and placed it on my work table.
This weekend I incorporated the lizard into a talisman. In the process I had to think about what the lizard represented. The metaphysical properties and messages of animals are found through observing their behaviour and thinking about what that symbolizes, The more I thought about lizards the more I realized my little skink can be seen as a symbol for this stage of lockdown.
Lizards have the…
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“Give me silence, water, hope
Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.”
– Ode to Silence: Pablo Neruda
Samples of water from four different sources tested for iron content. From left to right: tap water, water from a garden water butt, sea water, bottled English mineral water.
The test results tell me there is little iron in any of the samples. The sample richest in iron is the sea water.
Good to know for eco-printing and natural dyeing.
I’m thinking how iron is silent until struck. We all know what that means.
The chaos is subsiding. I opened the last packing box a couple of weeks back.
Then found more. But a few and there are places for everything now.
A Place for Everything and Everything in its Place. (Benjamin Franklin?)
Distribution. It is almost accomplished. Objects unpacked. And placed.
There is the deeper de-chaosing; and culling. Hand-in-hand with the physical, the metaphysical. It is beginning. Little flows and synchronicities.
I thought it would take a month out of 2020 to complete the de-chaosing. January. It has taken four, and crashed into Spring and its own special and necessary chaos.
April is the cruelest month. T S Eliot meant something else, but there’s cruelty in the culling that has to be done in April, the making way for new growth, new life, in the natural world.
And it crashed into a global pandemic.
Strange times. Hope you all are coping well.
So, I’ve been accumulating onions skins for about a year. I’d read they were easy to dye with. We’ve all, at Easter, stained patterns on eggs by wrapping them with onion skins and boiling them, haven’t we? I used red onion skins in these prints. I soaked a handful from my stash in water, adding a dash of iron sulphate (FeSo4 to all you chemistry geeks). The iron was on impulse and isn’t necessary.
The skins were meant to soak in that solution overnight. It was three weeks before I got back to them. How would they print? Would they print? I made a sandwich of the skins between silk and cotton. The silk was from the Silk Market (Koza Han) in Bursa, Turkey; the cotton was heavy-duty, an offcut from some white curtains.
The top image is of the silk; the bottom, the cotton. They are quite different prints. I have it on good authority that the blue splash on the cotton print is likely to be from the iron I added.
I’ll be doing more experiments with onion skins.
When all is done and dusted (pardon the pun) I’ll blog about what Jordan Peterson’s Clean up Your Room edict has revealed and changed. (Clean up Your Room comes from Dr Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life: An Anti-Dote to Chaos). I believe I am in the home stretch.
Meanwhile, though I have not been making any form of art since my last blog post, but concentrating on the de-chaosing, I have been thinking constantly, and making notes, and dreaming, and … Artists don’t have an ‘off’ switch – and that’s one thing revealed to me during this clean-up process – which is good as in deciding to abandon art-making in order to finish the clean-up, I expected to die. Not be creative? I’m dead!
I didn’t die, not essentially abandon my creativity. I’ve sketched or written down the ideas as they came. Recently I had this come to me in the wee small hours and I’m writing it down so I don’t forget it. It is this: I am to consider the poetic maps – all the blogs about the mental walks I do – their roads off into other subject matter, related or seemingly, at the time, not, … I am to consider them in terms of music. In terms of melody, harmony, disharmony, counterpoint. And to translate this music into inter-related (or not) forms and spaces.
Notation is to sound as sound is to form; and
Notation is to sound absence as sound absence is to non-form
If the above doesn’t make any sense to you, it doesn’t yet make much sense to me. I do feel it is how nature works anyway but I don’t yet know why I think that.
Any thoughts? Suggestions? References?
I’m reading one of John Cage’s books: A Year from Monday: Lectures and Writings. The book completes the corpus of his collected writings. I’m reading the collection backwards in time. Don’t ask me why.
2019 was not a year for blogging. I didn’t plan it that way. But from late spring onwards, what plans I had for the year were snatched away and I was flying by the seat of my pants.
2020 is also going to be a year for flying by the seat of the pants. At least I am prepared for it. I am making plans, but …
This does tie in with my single 2019 New Year’s Resolution, the advice of Jordan B Peterson to clean up my room. And I’ve cleaned it up enough to have freed more creative time and space for 2020, if all goes smoothly. There’s a story, but I’ll save that for another blog.
I’m kicking off 2020 with, believe it or not, poetry. I think it’s poetry. Maybe it isn’t really poetry. It’s a series anyway and I’m calling it Tricks of Light. It’s about observations made during walks in nature. It’s about paying attention.
Here’s the first. Read it as a draft. I’m aiming for at least one a week.
Tricks of Light I
At first glance it looked like that young squirrel
(born late in the seasonal cycle) – its tail –
arched for balance as it thieved
food from the bird table. I was leaving
extra food. It would survive the season
to thrive, unless preyed upon.
At second glance it was a leaf
lanceolate – bowed-down,
twitching in the tight breeze.
At third glance I tried to switch it with a spell,
back to adolescent squirrel tail.
But the leaf held fast to its own self
a green spear – already rusting back from its tip –
piercing my winter-weakened powers.
Or was it that, my powers mellowed by winter,
to have the squirrel I also had to have the leaf?
Ann Isik 2020
Have a creative 2020.