The fishing metaphor that's volunteering itself in my work is about looking for something inside yourself. Fishing for inscrutable things.
The ocean has been in my dreams since I was a teenager. And my favorite childhood book was about humpback whales, the imagery all blues and greens and massive, gentle creatures. There were no borders around the images, so there was no white paper to remind me it was just a book. I was practically there in the water with these whales. It was so inviting. I was so curious and still am, I guess.
Various parts of my physiology (including my brain) feel like the idea of the ocean feels to me. There are mysterious physiological spaces, small oceans in us that we don't think about on a daily basis. For example, at the base of your throat, protected by cartilage and bone, there's an enclosed empty space. It seems strangely still and fragile. My physical therapist looked surprised when I mentioned that empty space to her. She told me that I'm among few of her clients who sense their own physiology this way. Go figure. Maybe that sensibility is why I'm a sculptor: sensor of textures, spaces, and light. And small and large oceans.
So, here are some pictures of one book I finished today. I made it with tea stain and two inks, Puffs tissues, wax for a binding, and some filament. I used very old fishing hook and line behind each tissue embossment/rubbing. It's in three parts and can be folded into a 2" x 3.5" bundle. It's an ocean to carry in your pocket or the palm of your hand.
Tomorrow morning I'm heading to the beach at Glisteri (glis -TAYR - ee) with two other residents who arrived this weekend. I hope we get to swim, but there is a chance that the movie crew will block off the beach. Either way, should be an adventure.
By the way, Amanda did in fact walk me home for the third night in a row. Seems I'm the only one she's doing this for. When I looked out the window a minute ago, I was surprised to see her staring at me from a hill above the computer loft. What is she thinking?
I tried to take her photo last night for evidence. Although I moved very casually to get the camera, she saw what I was up to and took off like a "no, miss, don't thank me" superhero. So elusive! Here's a lousy photo. It's all she would give me:
Have a great day. More updates tomorrow.
4 comments:
WOW! Love, Mom and Dad Carter
What a lovely book - and I would expect nothing less from you. It screams Amy Cliser Carter. I loved hearing about your long time connection to the ocean and how this is influencing your work now. Your consistency is the delicate tangible manifestation of metaphor you infuse into every piece. I can't wait to see more.
chloe
I had to dig out a ruler to visualize the size of your folded book--even though you gave the dimensions and talked about "the palm of your hand." But in the image, the book looks monumental--as though it should be measured in feet instead of inches. The book is strong, not fragile. And the hooks could catch sharks.
When I think of hooks, I have the image of some outside insult that "hooks" you--a mean act or comment that lodges in your heart and keeps you awake at night, thinking of the perfect reaction or retort to answer whoever. A wise person once said that if something hooks you like that, you need to examine the part of yourself that was so susceptible.
So I will think of your hook book as an invitation to smooth off rough edges--and appreciate whatever is dredged up. It's part of me.
The empty space inside is a new idea. I tend to think of everything in me as clogged with fat :-( and other negative stuff. But you are right--there is a vast amount of space inside of me to explore. Thanks for the images. Love you--Nita Sue
I hope I get to see the book, seems like something meant to be held.
And, forgive me, but I'm going to be thinking of "Amanda" as something not completely real. She's on the verge and the picture is proof.
Looking forward to more,
Jim
Post a Comment