Friday, September 21, 2007


the air was threaded with a murmurous refrain of minstrel winds

I adore the phrase "minstrel winds"!!!


1. In the sky the bright stars glittered,


The Fair Maid Who,
was grieved to the core of my heart
After a time she grew tired,
"I've been thinking a great deal about him lately.
"Good night," she said
a bit anxiously.

Thursday, September 13, 2007


air, water, trees and other natural things
spirits in rocks
trees in shrubs decomposing
secret ponds
breeze, so softly blowing
I thought I was

I am bugged now, because there is a show called LOST! When I did this page, there was no lost!


Her obsession is somewhat puzzling. What would drive a woman
with considerable beauty and substantial resources to suffer the
toil and potentially serious injuries of
a labor of love
a sinister looking black pool
dying and living birds
clots of dead grass

The swamplike vegetation on this page is really insane, and not very characteristic of the Adirondacks. I had attempted to make this an Adirondack Fairy Tale, in pride of this beautiful park that surrounds me...But sometimes you have to stretch the truth in order to fulfill the story line. I think these trees are from a southern swamp, not a northern forest.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007


grew black and rotten
she put on galoshes!
it became colder and colder.

This spread is hysterical!!! If all spreads could come out like this, I would be so damned lucky!


She makes the most of every moment.
Beruffled in translucent tones
this lusty garland of russet leaves, and several black
enameled leaves. In the back set a bow of watered
ribbon and lace.
that mount up to perfection.

I am weary of this spread. The Fair Maid shouldn't be nekked till later on...BUT I love the weird waxy horn pipes. I may have to keep it in.


She had some respite,

rather remote
feeling lonely
in the black moss bog

The dripping background was in an art magazine. I don't remember which one, Art Forum or something like that. This was a few years ago I did this page—— PRE-graffiti craze. I really like the dripping paint thing. I don't care if it is in vogue or what the deal is. There is a time and a place for dripping tho, and apparently when you are remote and lonely in your black moss bog, that is a good time.


In the beginning
Round and round she whirled—in space—
in the blackness—in confusion. Slower and
slower she turned- a mass of warring sensations
pounding down upon her.
Heaven turned is to hell.
waiting for
the great oneness.

Very Important words! I like the spiritual relapse on this page.Heaven is turned to hell it seems, for most people waiting for God. I won't go into my personal religious preferences here, but I am really happy these words are in my book.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007


Sometimes it's the little thorns
that prick hardest
I shall re-find you in Eternity
journey into the wilderness in order to reach
"You my fellow fine,

The claws instead of hands is a reference to the "prick" in the text.


Love, I am lonely, and so far from thee!
In the long shady branches
Of the dark pine tree


Your ears ring, your heart sick, breathless on the bank of a brook.


The beauty and grace of a
young deer frolicking in
the summer meadow...
the delight of a baby
raccoon being startled
by a tiny green frog...
the charm of two chipmunks sharing their
food with a little bird...such scenes from
nature have a very special fascination for us
What kind of birds would you expect
to find in a bog?
What kind of frogs would you expect
to find in a swamp?
Are the trees young or stunted?
What is the appearance of the water?
How does it feel to walk on the mulch?
What plants can you find that belong
to the swamp community?
The bog community?
"Where?" is he

The Fair Maid attempts to turn her interests elsewhere...on the bog and the world that surrounds. But in the end, her thoughts succomb to feelings of missing her dream partner.


feeling so blue
then I think
about you

A strange spread, because it is kinda tacky. Not sure about this one...It's symmetry is odd when the rest of the book is so free for all.


Then she sighed. She had never
before minded being alone. Now she dreaded it. When she was
alone now she felt so dreadfully alone.

At this point in my personal life, I was realizing my marriage was going south. I kept feeling that being alone is one thing. Being alone with someone right next to you was quite another. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was expressing my loneliness in my creation of this book. The act of creation, upon retrospect, appears to be quite autobiographical sometimes. I can see parallels between what was happening in my life, and what is happening in the artwork all the time. In fact, towards the middle of this book, I was unable to complete the pages, in accordance with the plot. This project sat for 2 full years untouched, and unfinished.
There is a huge section here, perhaps 25 spreads (50 pp.) that are melancholy moments for the Fair Maid. I am not certain if I need so many pages in this portion of the story and plot. It is something I am looking at if I need to cut anywhere. It may appear out of balance with the ending. I don't want to end to seem short in comparison.

Monday, September 10, 2007


A Bog dream that's bound to come true

Foreshadowing what is to come...

This page has the most excellent Bog word. I was really into type at the time, and I think this was prompted by all the cutting of letters and words for this book. I wanted each page to have interesting words to read, an interesting display of words also for the eyes, and creative words both with rhyming and prose mixed together. AEZ did an issue with odd typography. This is helping me date when I started the book, since it has been a few years!


She had come from a place where
nothing was ever certainly known
Life in a Bog Dream

I don't think anything is Ever certainly known. Whether you are in a bog dream, or a forest, or real life...the only constant is change.


Trapped in.
The dominion of
a dream
the maiden all forlorn,
lay in the humble
nests among the trees;
Ponderously, fitfully, unevenly,
I know that somewhere there are trees,
And brooks that go meandering,
Somewhere in gardens there are bees
With hollyhocks philandering;
I know from signs that mark the sky,
And something tells me it's "that
desire which comes
from thinking
of him


in treasured scraps of antique chintz
This sense of naturalness and ease is in fact achieved


Lost in a maze of
some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for
all eternity. We can never pierce its infinite mystery—we may
only wander, awed and spellbound, on the outer fringe of it.
The woods call to us with a hundred voices.
A timeless far-flung
spirit in a nest
of dreams

When I was working on these pages, way back a few years ago....this spread quickly became one of my favorites. I don't know if it was just the green of the page or what. Now when I look at the book complete, there are so many favorites to pick from.


The brook that ran
across the corner dimpled pellucidly in the shadows of the
birches. The poppies along its banks were like shallow cups of

The Fair maid returns to bog life, and begins a period of sorrow and longing.