|another heart for a colophon image; this|
one, though, is being repaired after rupture
+ 10 - is about many things--but one of the prominent things that it deals with are the twinned concepts of poetic revision and bodily healing/scarring. I had this book project in mind long before it came into fruition as the artist book I'll write about here; indeed, the "ten" of the title refers to a number of years. As an undergraduate student in my early 20s, I wrote a series of poems entitled "Drafting Days" that were about the dissolution of a romantic relationship. These poems, part of my larger honors thesis project, were very much invested in thinking through the relationship between words and embodiment, between poetry and fine arts: thus, I chose to photograph these poems as I wrote them, one by one, on my own body. It struck me at the time (and still does strike me, if I'm honest) that skin was a particularly apt vehicle for expressions of the kind of intimacy, pain, and loss that these poems meant to archive--and that allowing a reader to view these poems on a body rather than on a piece of paper would communicate a kind of embodied language that I was struggling to express more traditionally.
|as you can see, the techniques I used to bind and affix|
images in the book, as well as to put the book together,
are takes on anatomical suturing techniques.
|this spine binding (as noted above) uses the technique|
that doctors use to bind tendons together
|digital photo/ poem/ manual photo sandwich|
|if I ever use this process again, I will pick a MUCH|
less slippery thread!
I was interested in the idea, in the capturing of these revisions/scars, that there would be a lot of text visible that wouldn't necessarily be legible. For instance, in many of the photos (particularly when printed on cloth), the text is fuzzy and hard to make out. To me, this seemed a crucial expression of the essentially private, idiosyncratic nature of the loss of love. In keeping with this theme, I chose to include all of the words from the original poems but to divest them of their poetic structure. Instead, I printed them in alphabetical order at the front and the close of the book: words I used multiple times were printed in red, and ones I used only once were printed in black.
|these words are printed on translucent paper, allowing for|
the above effect
|of course, this suturing is more aesthetic than practical...such a wound|
would not, it seems, be closed via this thread!
Here's to the incomplete work we are all doing/being!