For me, the foremost attraction of old-school woodcuts (early 20th c.) is their complete absence of car chases, explosions, copulation, dumb-ass mayhem, and post-modern cliches generally.
The old-school wood cuts (and contemporary work, too) I occasionally look over at this hour are those where people live close to the land, and the land, generous, wraps its broad arms around their shoulders and fields, and the people, poor folk, live their day-to-day and always the earth provides, somehow.
Fantasy and cliche, of course, but that’s completely beside the point because fantasy and cliche is the stuff we’re made of, the stuff we eat and pass around and ask, More, please.
… and this lovely bird yet and its long journey beyond all sound and fury and self-medication …
At the convenience store awhile ago, a car pulled in next to mine and it was a grandmother driving and in back in a car seat, a grandson. The woman was maybe forty, the boy three, and after parking and gathering themselves, they went together into the store and I thought nothing more of them.
But then they came out again, slowly. The grandmother was holding the kid in one hand and a supersized Polar Pop in the other. Coming around to the passenger side of her car, the grandmother reached through the front window and placed the Polar Pop on the dashboard, opened the back door, strapped in the kid, closed the door, and then walked around and got into her car and started it. And then, reaching for the Polar Pop and twisting around as best she could, she handed it off to her grandson.
“It’s all yours honey,” she said. “Mine you don’t drop it.” Continue reading
Having looked at this photo for most of the winter, I’ve decided that what the world most needs is just this: leaping in, stepping out in the morning by 6:15, shucking our shoes, our fears, our inhibitions, and free-falling 30′ down to where trout live and hard-to-see snails. And floating on the surface water just above our heads a few yellow leaves.
Photo: Cory Arnold