Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Bird Face

As I leave for work in the morning, the rooster looks sadly at me from his coop.  He wants out.  He wants to run in the grass and eat earwigs.  He wants to roll in the dirt pick.  He wants to sit on top of the coop and watch the world.  I tell him I am sorry as I leave.  I tell him this will all happen when I get home.

The other song birds in the area seem not to harass the chickens.  They quietly pop away from the coop, seeming to not want to hurt the kept birds' feelings.  In the evening when the chickens are dirt bathing, song birds swoop and call from the willow tree to the apple tree.  They sing in solidarity with their cousins.

I herd the chickens back into the coop.  Foxes will be out soon and the stinky skunk as well.  The rooster puffs his chest as if to say he can take them.  Tomorrow evening I tell him and offer a fat, green hornworm. The catbird sitting in the willow flies away as I shut the door.  Tomorrow evening there will be more grazing and dirt baths.

Promise.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Thursday, August 8, 2013

everything would be all right

For some reason I get weird magazines as gifts.  Let me rephrase that: Folks give me subscriptions to odd magazines as gifts.  Well, perhaps they are not "weird" as not my cuppa.  Except for that they offer excellent fodder for cutting up and making adjustments to the images.

  Not all of the subscriptions are as curious as others...
 In fact, I purposefully seek out National Geographic...
 And sometimes books find their way into my collage materials after the dog has eaten half of the book.
 And by half of the book, I don't mean the first 200 pages of a 400 page novel.
 I mean the bottom half.
And as far as subscriptions go, perhaps you'd like one of my postcard collages.  Get a 3 month subscription to a postcard a month by click this link https://www.etsy.com/listing/151752830/a-subscription-to-a-collage-postcard-a? which will take you to my Etsy shop, Inventing Trees.  Happy subscribing!

Monday, August 5, 2013

Yellow Victorian Divan and Balloon Animal Headdresses

There are about a dozen abandoned houses that are going up for auction.  Within those houses are rooms of furniture and assorted bits.  I claim a house.  I plan to open a bed and breakfast within.  I will refurbish all whatever furniture I can and sell the bits that don't fit.

After months of work of pulling off cobwebs and dust and old glue, I have reclaimed the old Victorian furniture.  The pieces are coming together.

One morning people pour into the houses.  They pull the paper off the walls.  They take the knick-knacks off the shelves.  They take the furniture.  They take the furniture.  They took the furniture.

I leave the house.  I wander away from the furniture that I have worked to fix.  The hoards of people have made the emerging beauty of the other centuries shabby and hopeless.  It is all lost.

I make my way to a friend's studio. She looks at me and tells me my hair needs fixing.  She takes my hand and leads me to the sink and a chair.  After sitting me down, she twists a balloon creature out of silver balloons and fixes it to my head.  There is a silver droop down flowing from the back of my head.  On the top of my head, the balloon forms eyes that peer out of my hair.  She says I am better now.
I stand up and go out to get back my yellow Victorian divan from the old house.  The eyes in my hair blink in solidarity.