Spent the week tooling with various combinations of media. Just how many combinations of layered gunge can I devise? Seemingly limitless, but four to be precise. Each looking more bedraggled than the last. The result has been a massive repapering of the walls of every wastebasket in the house. In a thousand glorious shades of grey.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Gravid women at windows. It's a Grimm specialty. Rapunzel's mother. Rapunzel herself, if you want to get squeamishly literal. Snow White's mother. There's something in the image. Women being consumed from within, battered from without. Not technically indoors, not technically out-of. And not at all in possession of themselves while they stand between the two. Shades at doorways. Or doorways themselves.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Little known truth that dwarves are master singers. Of course, it would be silly romanticism to assume that the song is the product of joyous spirits--they're a stony-faced, hardhearted bunch and that is well documented. Fact is, it has everything to do with stones. Turns out that the rare gems have an affinity for music. A well-tuned song will work its way into the inner lattices of a stone and set its crystal structure to vibrating. A few taps on a surfaced vein to establish pitch and the worker can hum-hum his way along all the truest faultlines of the mineral--singing while hammering out the finest, most unblemished product. Harmonic mining. And dwarves--with their bellow lungs and their mobile mouths and their unmatched perfectionism--are the best. A practiced miner can winnow out his quarry--while aboveground--simply by emitting a series of sweet, high-pitched shrills*. A stone will practically dance from its mooring at the sound of dwarfsong. Which in actuality, is all very romantic, and the closest to a love affair that these small, grim men can get.
*Gives a whole new meaning to "whistle while you work".
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Not a swift wit, Snow White, but someone should have advised her to look down. The shoes make the man. No common peddlar woman would have the funds for Seven League Boots. And no sorceress worth her salt would travel without them.
Friday, March 07, 2008
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Really, this time.
A little Daniel for your Day. Maybe it's the rise of the mustachioed man that led me to it. Or maybe years later I'm still smarting over the gross miscast of a role that should have been Lewis's. Either way, it seems he's my hunter of choice.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Monday, March 03, 2008
Something from Snow White. Don't know why it never occurred to me that the Mirror-Mirror might be less looking glass and more scrying glass. My horizons needs broadening--quite literally. I suppose that's the risk you run when operating constantly on the verticle. Turn the paper ninety degrees and utility takes on a different meaning
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Missing: One sceptered amphibian. Behind the curtain? Seated observer? Already tucking in? Victim of a tragic misunderstanding in the palace kitchens? The serving platter indicates as much.