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Dream Journal: new year's cards / yasumasa morimura
Mar. 14th, 2009 | 06:18 pm
Standing on the sidewalk along 45th outside the Charlestown house, I had just received a stack of Japanese New Year's cards from old high school classmates from Sendai, and for a moment Kumi W was there in person handing them to me. The late date made me wonder if they'd been mailed after Tsagaan Sar (the Mongolian lunar New Year, celebrated at the end of February this year). They were printed on much larger postcards than usual, vertically-oriented light cardstock of something like 13cm by 30cm. The printing was in red ink, and I noticed that a few had round Islamic seals stamped on the fronts. Most had the names of Japanese artists printed at the tops, with a portrait underneath, and I was suprised to see that the second in the stack was Yasumasa Morimura, with an oval-shaped ink drawing of the face alone (excluding the body and wig) from his 'Self Portrait, After Marilyn Monroe':
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Dream Journal: resonant rocks / winter evening in june
Jun. 25th, 2008 | 06:03 pm
I had set up my portable minidisc recorder in the snow at the base of a tall Douglas fir tree at the south side of the driveway in Colville, ready to make a recording. I had gathered some rocks and limbs nearby and then started carrying two long rocks over to use in the recording. The rocks were very long, maybe 7 feet in length, a few inches wide at the base, tapering to only an inch or so at the other end, and 2 or 3 inches thick, roughly symmetrical and fitting together as a pair. As I carried them I could hear low, highly resonant sounds, partly from their rubbing, and also seeming to emanate from inside the tree as I got nearer to it. I could see that the tree was hollowed out near the base, seemingly slightly lit inside as if the glow was vaguely golden and unlike the deep blue-grey twilight outside, also dry and free of snow.
Mom and dad had parked at the end of the driveway and were getting ready to go cross-country skiing up the road towards Douglas Mountain. I was planning to ski there myself but had also planned to meet some old friends for a couple of drinks at a bar in town later in the evening as I was planning to go back the next morning. I still wanted to make a recording at the treebase, though, before skiing. I started to ask dad something, but he had already taken his skis out and was skiing up the road fairly quickly. The light was getting lower, still a deep blue-grey evening tone, and as I looked up towards Douglas I could see snowflakes falling a little faster. I knew that once I started skiing up onto the mountain, I would not feel like coming back until late in the evening.
Mom and dad had parked at the end of the driveway and were getting ready to go cross-country skiing up the road towards Douglas Mountain. I was planning to ski there myself but had also planned to meet some old friends for a couple of drinks at a bar in town later in the evening as I was planning to go back the next morning. I still wanted to make a recording at the treebase, though, before skiing. I started to ask dad something, but he had already taken his skis out and was skiing up the road fairly quickly. The light was getting lower, still a deep blue-grey evening tone, and as I looked up towards Douglas I could see snowflakes falling a little faster. I knew that once I started skiing up onto the mountain, I would not feel like coming back until late in the evening.
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Dream Journal: elliott erwitt photos / pet quails in shirts
Jun. 25th, 2008 | 05:06 pm
On the dining room table at grandma's house in Addy was a letter from uncle Dan that mentioned he was living around Palm Springs, formatted more like a brochure with glamorous black-and-white photos reminiscent of Elliott Erwitt's photography [as I'd been reading the article 'Candid Camera: The Cult of Leica' in the New Yorker the night before].
From the kitchen window I caught a glimpse of three of our pet button quail, Tamarack, Maple and Flicker, a little bigger than usual, sitting together wearing golden-tan checked long-sleeved shirts.
From the kitchen window I caught a glimpse of three of our pet button quail, Tamarack, Maple and Flicker, a little bigger than usual, sitting together wearing golden-tan checked long-sleeved shirts.