that they come with all kinds of interesting extras:
bookmarks, dedications, marginal notes, reviews...
Here: a timeworn receipt from a bookshop in Sri
Lanka - so fragile already that I preserved it in
plastic...
"I have a mind myself"- one of a series I´m working
on...
The birds singing like crazy, the moon looking down
in a rather irritating way last night...
Gave me a funny mood I guess, so I made two moony
mixed-media cards...
This one started with me staring at the moon, then
finding a bit of a book page with these lines on
it, by an author unknown: The night shall be filled
with music, And the cares that infest the day/Shall
fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently steal
away...
Next to that was a child´s drawing I´d rescued
in the street, part of which provided the tents...
Looks like lady Luna had her nose done at the same
place Michael Jackson frequented - well, why not.
While busy with that, I was humming - what else? -
It is only a paper moon/hanging over a cardboard scene...
A paper and thread moon...
They are all three in the shop, and there will be some
more this week - I´ve been prescribing myself a weekly
focus, and this week it´s mixed-media...
7 Kommentare:
you are an alchemist - you can turn paper into gold, a golden mind. that's a very scary bird, true crazy.
the triangles with their feathery tops reminded me of an pic i received from Selvedge this morning, a child's cap with that same top. now i have to put it onto something i'm working on right now. k.
Wonderful pieces! Several years ago I saw an exhibit at the Free Library of Philadelphia where they displayed bits and pieces of papers, etc. left in library books. There was a clever name they used for them but I don't recall what it was.
Longfellow's 'The Day is Done' - you'd love the whole poem and it suits the mood of your moon theme.
Ha, I´d wish that would be true, about the gold... - thanks, Deborah, pity you don´t, they deserve a clever name - and thanks to you, Chrissie - so here´s the complete poem:
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
Thrifted books are so much fun!
I have found two books signed by the author, both
are treasures to me.
My new word for this year is "focus" : )
Love your mixed media.
I also love the last verse. Wonderful post!
I love the things you gather.
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