The Illusion of Temperature and Humidity
September 12, 2011 § Leave a comment
One of the persons from this emerging story is obsessed with books. He makes them out of anything he can find. I believe he is the same person who, in an earlier post, was skimming rocks over the boathouse. He says:
I feel this alphabet of my roots,
The illusion of temperature and humidity,
Marvelous books I arrange by color.
These next phrases refer somehow to him as well:
Beloved folk interested in bare paper,
A painter tied to ghostly gallery walls,
A passion for mysterious unfathomable books,
Unbelievable alternative forms.
When I read this, I visualize fantastic bindings, marbled papers, ornate calligraphy, riveting stories, pop-ups, fold-outs, folded structures, flip books. But if want to see what’s inside these various volumes, I will have to make them myself…I could clear off the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in my studio—they take up an entire wall—and completely fill them with my own one-of-a-kind handmade books! I wonder how long that would take…
Though maybe I should heed the message from the Oracle…