there are times when i become intrigued with someone's work, and end up reading all of, say, terry tempest williams, or looking at all of hedi kyle's inventive structures and finding one of her workshops, peruse for hours the lovely papers at cave papers, perhaps seeing the group of seven oil sketches in the national gallery. i get hooked on a voice. a vision. another way of seeing and understanding that somehow infuses mine, which i suppose is research. or, as i say (wendy!) someone who "gets it". they resonate. often that person is female, sometimes not. this internet has been a boon to hermits like me. because the bits isolated old me gets to see are now so much bigger. and i can view video right on this macbook.
yesterday i watched a book artist talk with such love about his work. awe might be a better word, but in any case timothy c. ely caught my imagination yet again. about 15 years ago i was in our wonderful local university bookstore and i found this book. which i had to buy. it was made like a fine art book crossed with a magnificent children's picture book.
it is called the flight into egypt, binding the book. it is simultaneously a book about a mysterious journey into egypt and building a book, and includes amazing drawings and marks. it is so very much more than just what i've written. it was obviously a facsimile of a book, and even though the book is lovely, it is, i know not nearly what the original was.
i recently visited the website of the planetary collage and found this book, a catalog of work from a show a few years back. i purchased it and got a fine email from tim with the purchase arrangements. he inscribed it for me, including more beautiful marks in his own writing system, with enough english to help me along.
this is, i think, one of the blessings of the internet, this connecting. in the video, tim mentions a huge difference in book art and, say, painting. the book is held in the hands, explored with the eyes, it's best if it's smelled. how right he is, how intimate and visceral this experience is!
it is my hope that my work in textiles, papers, fibers, is becoming stories, books, that, if possible, heal.