HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Friday, October 12, 2007 the art of books today was my first day at the ink shop and olive branch press. i walked in, and was licked by a dog. for my first job, i was tasked to walk judy's dog. his name is pogo. that dog, when i was being shown the printing presses, put his snout into my bag, and took out the bread i packed for my lunch. we all had a good laugh over that. i have a new set of vocabulary to learn again, words like acid bath, acid tape, etching, contact printing, reverse contact printing, monoprinting. it seems in every city there is a new set of vocabulary i learn, each city contains its own language. this is a good language to learn. the stitch binding of japanese books, blanket stitches of premodern islamic books, the allegorical nature of renaissance prints, and colors too, i'm relearning colors, burnt sienna, blue, auburn, poppy judy reminds me there are different shades of black, black black, blue black, i'm a bit out of my league in the shop, but i'll pick it up soon. in two weeks' time, i'll be learning how to do islamic bookbinding. perhaps i might join the artists at printmaking if they let me. the women leave. after i'm done vacuuming like puck, pamela, who's in charge of the interns, pulls me to a secret corner, and shows me the most beautiful, limited edition poetry and print books ever. we're squatting by the cupboard, and i'm holding up the poetry of a dead woman, "when i did not die". there are only 30 editions of this poetry book, which is accompanied by prints. there is something erotic but unlovely about this print, a woman being courted by the figure of death in a garden. the phone rings, it's her husband, "sorry i was showing the poetry books, and i got lost." i leave, it's cold out, but not unlovely. posted by dawn # 8:39 PM Comments: make a book for me, or bind me one! life goes on tepidly. # posted by Anonymous : 8:44 PM Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] changing days i'm supposed to be writing a paper for modern danc... song fond The view from outside the house for one part of the paper i have to write, i had t... to all coldplay lovers, announcement! excerpts from various poems i am working on was supposed to do my work, instead i ended up loo... [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Friday, October 12, 2007

the art of books

today was my first day at the ink shop and olive branch press. i walked in, and was licked by a dog. for my first job, i was tasked to walk judy's dog. his name is pogo. that dog, when i was being shown the printing presses, put his snout into my bag, and took out the bread i packed for my lunch. we all had a good laugh over that.
i have a new set of vocabulary to learn again, words like acid bath, acid tape, etching, contact printing, reverse contact printing, monoprinting. it seems in every city there is a new set of vocabulary i learn, each city contains its own language. this is a good language to learn. the stitch binding of japanese books, blanket stitches of premodern islamic books, the allegorical nature of renaissance prints, and colors too, i'm relearning colors, burnt sienna, blue, auburn, poppy judy reminds me there are different shades of black, black black, blue black, i'm a bit out of my league in the shop, but i'll pick it up soon. in two weeks' time, i'll be learning how to do islamic bookbinding. perhaps i might join the artists at printmaking if they let me.
the women leave. after i'm done vacuuming like puck, pamela, who's in charge of the interns, pulls me to a secret corner, and shows me the most beautiful, limited edition poetry and print books ever. we're squatting by the cupboard, and i'm holding up the poetry of a dead woman, "when i did not die". there are only 30 editions of this poetry book, which is accompanied by prints. there is something erotic but unlovely about this print, a woman being courted by the figure of death in a garden. the phone rings, it's her husband, "sorry i was showing the poetry books, and i got lost." i leave, it's cold out, but not unlovely.

posted by dawn # 8:39 PM

Comments:

make a book for me, or bind me one!

life goes on tepidly.

# posted by

Anonymous : 8:44 PM