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ekh, assembled from text fragments 12/28/2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Winter 2010
Hello creative crafty wonderland at the kitchen table in the spirit of holiday giving.
Hello winter gray, Portland green and red and blue.
Hello holiday travel #3, aerial view.
Hello mom, love you.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
accidental poetry (#5)
By the Way
They color and show
to live in
warmest pleasure
chiefly
with the eye
(assembled from gathered text fallen, collected, reassembled November/December 2010)
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Delivered by pony
I'm about to get a new phone. It's one of those fancy i-Phone droids that most of Americans already have (if they don't already have the real deal i-Phone of course), with bells and whistles, and music-file-storing-and-playing capabilities, and INTERNET ACCESS. It was a "free" upgrade. So American! But its the last bit that blows my mind: internet in the palm of your [my] hand. And frankly kind of frightens me a bit.
I have had my current phone [model] for something like four or five years. In fact, I spilled coffee on it back in 2008 and had to replace it, with the same model, and when the buttons started getting wiry from too much usage last summer, I went on eBay and ordered the same old fogie phone to replace it. When it comes to electronics, and well, most things in general, I try to stay behind the times. There is something un-"American" in me that despises and disdains the materialism, the "new and improved" aspect of things, actually just waste and frivolity that America touts...wears like a badge. This is especially apparent around this time of year.
Sometimes when I get out into the woods and go backpacking, or travel to another country, I delight in my forced inability to use my phone. There is no need to make an excuse for being out of reach. It just marvelously is.
Now, with the internets right there in my paw, will I become like so many around me, always scrolling, punching, thumb-writing out brief and misspelled emails just to be the first one to respond...not taking the time to craft a "letter" (even if digital) or re-read and re-read, and re-read again, to develop just the right tone and phrasing in my word choice?
There are a few remaining antiquated spinsters like I, who appreciate the beauty of the written word and the elation that comes with getting something delivered in the "snail mail" (that isn't junk or bills or taxes or pay stubs)...
One is my friend Elyse:
She is my original Mail-Art companion. We've been sharing art for almost as long as I've had that fogie phone...four years. When we lived blocks away from each other in Manhattan, we'd still put a stamp on, drop it in the big blue box, and wait to hear of its arrival down the street. We've pushed a couch by hand further than those art posties have gone by mail...
I also enjoy being art pen-pals with my six-year-old cousin, Kate. She has no idea about the i-Phone or email or any of that stuff that clogs our brains and depersonalizes everything personal. Her work is innocent, spontaneous, and sweet. (...and I gotta get that while I can!)
And finally is my un-"American" soul mate, also "discontent with the sedentary life of the modern world and prefer to throw our hearts into the wind" , to use his words, who recounted how he once told his mother, when asked what "I will be when I grow up", that he would like to work for the pony express.
Daniel:
_____________________________________________________________________________________
No, thumb-punched emails on my hand-held digital universe cannot, will not, replace the joy of receiving hand-made art or handwritten letters in my literal physical mailbox. He sums it up quite nicely:
"And so alas, I remain a modern man in the modern world scribing careful post cards only fit for some one else who also understands the romance of receiving mail delivered by pony."
I have had my current phone [model] for something like four or five years. In fact, I spilled coffee on it back in 2008 and had to replace it, with the same model, and when the buttons started getting wiry from too much usage last summer, I went on eBay and ordered the same old fogie phone to replace it. When it comes to electronics, and well, most things in general, I try to stay behind the times. There is something un-"American" in me that despises and disdains the materialism, the "new and improved" aspect of things, actually just waste and frivolity that America touts...wears like a badge. This is especially apparent around this time of year.
Sometimes when I get out into the woods and go backpacking, or travel to another country, I delight in my forced inability to use my phone. There is no need to make an excuse for being out of reach. It just marvelously is.
 |
| (See look how happy I am!) |
There are a few remaining antiquated spinsters like I, who appreciate the beauty of the written word and the elation that comes with getting something delivered in the "snail mail" (that isn't junk or bills or taxes or pay stubs)...
One is my friend Elyse:
 |
| 'angles' by elyse |
 |
| 'arm, arm ( the couch story)', 2007 by me |
I also enjoy being art pen-pals with my six-year-old cousin, Kate. She has no idea about the i-Phone or email or any of that stuff that clogs our brains and depersonalizes everything personal. Her work is innocent, spontaneous, and sweet. (...and I gotta get that while I can!)
 | |||||||
| diptych by kate |
 |
| art trade for kate, 2010 (by me) |
And finally is my un-"American" soul mate, also "discontent with the sedentary life of the modern world and prefer to throw our hearts into the wind" , to use his words, who recounted how he once told his mother, when asked what "I will be when I grow up", that he would like to work for the pony express.
Daniel:
 |
| deer and two hearts by daniel |
 |
| 'I'll give you my heart(s), if you give me yours', 2010 |
No, thumb-punched emails on my hand-held digital universe cannot, will not, replace the joy of receiving hand-made art or handwritten letters in my literal physical mailbox. He sums it up quite nicely:
"And so alas, I remain a modern man in the modern world scribing careful post cards only fit for some one else who also understands the romance of receiving mail delivered by pony."
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