The problem with having a comfortable bed with cozy bedclothes and a good pillow, tucked away in a nook that gets only residual light from the front room, is that even when you go to sleep early, leaving plenty of time for a full eight hours– you still want hit snooze and go back to… Continue reading The bear-old urge to hibernate returns with the autumnal equinox
A reiteration of a bit from an entry made some years ago: My dreams are bound together with waxed sail thread, glue stick and cello tape. The faint image above is a test I worked with silverpoint last night. I'd have done more but my makeshift silverpoint stylus was very poor indeed, involving a length… Continue reading silverpoint
The drawing on paper for a soft ground etching; it's Ben in New Orleans. I'm having trouble escaping my dreams. It's as if all the unremembered or missed visitations are making up for lost time these days, arriving one upon the other, ceaselessly. It's a haunting, an undertow from which I feel I can barely… Continue reading An undertow and soft ground
The moon was waxing– gibbous! on its way to being full. But the waning begins immediately thereafter. There is no pause.
I miss my vivid dreams of last year... the recalling of them took some time each morning, and I miss that time– I want them to come back in all their colors and vibrancy.
This morning I wrote down a dream for the first time in many months. It had taken place in or around a dream New Orleans, and involved a visit from family; the finding of a magical (not literally) antiques shop; stopping in at an editing facility where several friends from the old days worked; and… Continue reading drawings of two, both of whom began with hats
It's come to me attention recently that it's been ages since I've written so much as a sentence about a dream I've recalled on waking. I have, in the past week or two, actually had some wisps of imagery on a few mornings, but it seems that my recollection skills have waned in direct proportion… Continue reading a dearth of dreams
It was in a dream, and I was writing the names and routes of kids from the school in the district. I'd been placed for some reason in an office relating to the busing of schoolchildren. I'd begun by sorting and opening the mail, and realized too late that I'd opened an envelope for the… Continue reading As I recorded the relevent details I saw my writing grow increasingly larger and more ornate.
[Dream] I went to stay at the house of a friend. We were kids, maybe teens, so it was the house of her parents really. The place was magnificent– I thought. It was crowded and filled with things, and the areas to walk were narrow and had to be picked through carefully. Nowhere in the… Continue reading A house of breathing music
Ghastly and morbid, dreams of the past few days. Mutation, illness and other catastrophes have been casting themselves against a backdrop of art, work and money. May none of them prove portentious!
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 