This is Not a Sad Post
Someone that I do not know whose name is Hadley, ( I found her shop ), collected a box of goodies for me when she returned home (near me) from New Zealand to clean out her family's olde home. Her dad is a friend of my mom. This is the connection. I know her name mostly because it was in the vintage Cinderella book that I read to Søren a few nights ago. I do not know whose family she boxed up for me, but in it (in addition to children's books) CDVs, photograph albums with tin types &c, daguerrotypes, autograph books &c.
Yes, a TRUE box of treasures.
So this morning I picked up a little book that says ALBUM upon the cover and thought of my Scrapplings project (from 2010) that hasn't yet taken shape (if you are reading this (does anyone read my words?) and you set me a Scrapplings package, I still have every one and DO plan to finish before I die) which will be a collection of collages created from teeny tiny scraps found on the floors of artist's studios. Anyway, I stray. I was looking at this book then flipped through the pages dated 1880. So many silly words in fine penmanship, somehow securing relationships, and not unlike Facebook or any number of friend collections, simply, a way for humans to declare their existence to others (and themselves). So weird. Because in not a very long period of time most of these words and photographs will be completely disconnected. If we are lucky some artist will find our remains (scrapplings) and make something new out of them, whilst still hanging on to some tiny taste of the past.
And then a letter arrives from Katie ( you can get one too: The Postmark ) that made it all worse. Or the same as always. (For I cannot go back far enough into my life where there is not a memory of the wonder (and sorrow) of time's travels) (The moment Silas was born tears welled in my eyes, this was the picture that immediately found me: Søren and Silas, two olde men in rocking chairs on an olde porch talking. I was sad because clearly, I was dead and not with them. Silas was seconds olde and my little brain took me to the end!)
But this isn't sad, though sadness does visit. This just is. And what we do, we just gather. We make new things and try to keep it simple. Simple? Well...
Someone that I do not know, her name is Hadley, (I found this: http://www.shescrafty.com/Home.php) collected a box of goodies for me. I know her name mostly because it was in the vintage Cinderella book that I read to Søren a few nights ago. She is the daughter of a man who is a friend of my mom. Hadley lives in New Zealand but grew up near where we live. I do not understand the entire story, but the box contains children's books, CDVs, photograph albums with tin types &c, daguerrotypes, autograph books &c. Yes, a TRUE box of treasures.
So this morning I picked up a little book that says ALBUM upon the cover and thought of my Scrapplings project (from 2010) that hasn't yet taken shape (if you are reading this (does anyone read my sparse blog?!) and you set me a Scrapplings package, I still have every one and DO plan to finish this before I die) which will be a collection of collages created from the teeny tiny scraps found on the floors of artist's studios. Anyway, I stray. I was looking at this book then flipped through the pages dated 1880. So many silly words in fine penmanship, somehow securing relationships, and not unlike Facebook or any number of friend collections, simply, a way for humans to declare their existence to others. So weird. Because in not a very long period of time most of these words and photographs will be completely disconnected. If we are lucky some artist will find our remains (scrapplings) and make something new out of them, whilst still hanging on to some tiny taste of the past.
And then a letter arrives from Katie ( you can get one too: ThePostmark.etsy.com ) that made it all worse. Or the same as always. (For I cannot go back far enough into my life where there is not a memory of the wonder of time) (The moment Silas was born tears welled in my eyes, this was the picture that immediately found me: Søren and Silas, two olde men in rocking chairs on an olde porch talking. I was sad because clearly, I was dead and not with them. Silas was seconds olde and my little brain took me to the end!)
But this isn't sad, though sadness does visit. This just is. And what we do, we just gather. We make new things and try to keep it simple. Simple? Well...
Someone that I do not know, her name is Hadley, (I found this: http://www.shescrafty.com/Home.php) collected a box of goodies for me. I know her name mostly because it was in the vintage Cinderella book that I read to Søren a few nights ago. She is the daughter of a man who is a friend of my mom. Hadley lives in New Zealand but grew up near where we live. I do not understand the entire story, but the box contains children's books, CDVs, photograph albums with tin types &c, daguerrotypes, autograph books &c. Yes, a TRUE box of treasures.
So this morning I picked up a little book that says ALBUM upon the cover and thought of my Scrapplings project (from 2010) that hasn't yet taken shape (if you are reading this (does anyone read my sparse blog?!) and you set me a Scrapplings package, I still have every one and DO plan to finish this before I die) which will be a collection of collages created from the teeny tiny scraps found on the floors of artist's studios. Anyway, I stray. I was looking at this book then flipped through the pages dated 1880. So many silly words in fine penmanship, somehow securing relationships, and not unlike Facebook or any number of friend collections, simply, a way for humans to declare their existence to others. So weird. Because in not a very long period of time most of these words and photographs will be completely disconnected. If we are lucky some artist will find our remains (scrapplings) and make something new out of them, whilst still hanging on to some tiny taste of the past.
And then a letter arrives from Katie ( you can get one too: ThePostmark.etsy.com ) that made it all worse. Or the same as always. (For I cannot go back far enough into my life where there is not a memory of the wonder of time) (The moment Silas was born tears welled in my eyes, this was the picture that immediately found me: Søren and Silas, two olde men in rocking chairs on an olde porch talking. I was sad because clearly, I was dead and not with them. Silas was seconds olde and my little brain took me to the end!)
But this isn't sad, though sadness does visit. This just is. And what we do, we just gather. We make new things and try to keep it simple. Simple? Well...
Someone that I do not know, her name is Hadley, (I found this: http://www.shescrafty.com/Home.php) collected a box of goodies for me. I know her name mostly because it was in the vintage Cinderella book that I read to Søren a few nights ago. She is the daughter of a man who is a friend of my mom. Hadley lives in New Zealand but grew up near where we live. I do not understand the entire story, but the box contains children's books, CDVs, photograph albums with tin types &c, daguerrotypes, autograph books &c. Yes, a TRUE box of treasures.
So this morning I picked up a little book that says ALBUM upon the cover and thought of my Scrapplings project (from 2010) that hasn't yet taken shape (if you are reading this (does anyone read my sparse blog?!) and you set me a Scrapplings package, I still have every one and DO plan to finish this before I die) which will be a collection of collages created from the teeny tiny scraps found on the floors of artist's studios. Anyway, I stray. I was looking at this book then flipped through the pages dated 1880. So many silly words in fine penmanship, somehow securing relationships, and not unlike Facebook or any number of friend collections, simply, a way for humans to declare their existence to others. So weird. Because in not a very long period of time most of these words and photographs will be completely disconnected. If we are lucky some artist will find our remains (scrapplings) and make something new out of them, whilst still hanging on to some tiny taste of the past.
And then a letter arrives from Katie ( you can get one too: ThePostmark.etsy.com ) that made it all worse. Or the same as always. (For I cannot go back far enough into my life where there is not a memory of the wonder of time) (The moment Silas was born tears welled in my eyes, this was the picture that immediately found me: Søren and Silas, two olde men in rocking chairs on an olde porch talking. I was sad because clearly, I was dead and not with them. Silas was seconds olde and my little brain took me to the end!)
But this isn't sad, though sadness does visit. This just is. And what we do, we just gather. We make new things and try to keep it simple. Simple? Well...
Someone that I do not know, her name is Hadley, (I found this: http://www.shescrafty.com/Home.php) collected a box of goodies for me. I know her name mostly because it was in the vintage Cinderella book that I read to Søren a few nights ago. She is the daughter of a man who is a friend of my mom. Hadley lives in New Zealand but grew up near where we live. I do not understand the entire story, but the box contains children's books, CDVs, photograph albums with tin types &c, daguerrotypes, autograph books &c. Yes, a TRUE box of treasures.
So this morning I picked up a little book that says ALBUM upon the cover and thought of my Scrapplings project (from 2010) that hasn't yet taken shape (if you are reading this (does anyone read my sparse blog?!) and you set me a Scrapplings package, I still have every one and DO plan to finish this before I die) which will be a collection of collages created from the teeny tiny scraps found on the floors of artist's studios. Anyway, I stray. I was looking at this book then flipped through the pages dated 1880. So many silly words in fine penmanship, somehow securing relationships, and not unlike Facebook or any number of friend collections, simply, a way for humans to declare their existence to others. So weird. Because in not a very long period of time most of these words and photographs will be completely disconnected. If we are lucky some artist will find our remains (scrapplings) and make something new out of them, whilst still hanging on to some tiny taste of the past.
And then a letter arrives from Katie ( you can get one too: ThePostmark.etsy.com ) that made it all worse. Or the same as always. (For I cannot go back far enough into my life where there is not a memory of the wonder of time) (The moment Silas was born tears welled in my eyes, this was the picture that immediately found me: Søren and Silas, two olde men in rocking chairs on an olde porch talking. I was sad because clearly, I was dead and not with them. Silas was seconds olde and my little brain took me to the end!)
But this isn't sad, though sadness does visit. This just is. And what we do, we just gather. We make new things and try to keep it simple. Simple? Well...
Comments
Hadley
July 08, 2012Im so happy these treasures are in your hands! These are photos and letters from my maternal family and while they are beautiful, they will not survive new Zealand’s damp climate. I look forward to following your work, which is absolutely amazing.
Katie
July 08, 2012Beautiful of course. Enid Bagnold wrote, “Man, with his eye on death, draws his foot from the womb.” And your part about Soren and Silas made me think of this: “To give birth, to bring up the young, to die” thought the squire, and for the first time saw her own end as endurable. “I was solid and I was myself. But now I am a pipe through which the generations pass.”