and now become something like stelae of the air / whose outer edges tremble a little / before the invading light that is going to absorb them. [after Jaccottet on Morandi]
09.03.2026 00:06
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and now become something like stelae of the air / whose outer edges tremble a little / before the invading light that is going to absorb them. [after Jaccottet on Morandi]
Very excited for this to arrive....
"I was raised under a bell jar with forget-me-nots in my hair."
Thank you, Miriam Hopkins.
My painting "No Omen but Awe" is on view at the permanent collection gallery at the Bolinas Museum. Come west & stop by.
Happy Birthday, Kim! 🤍
Make contact with yourself—lay down a list of notes—and the discourse that must bind them together will grow among them on its own, like a creeper among stones. — Cristina Campo
⚡️
If you find yourself in New York City, please stop by Nicelle Beauchene Gallery in Tribeca to see Louise Despont's beautiful solo exhibition—Afterlifes. I'm working on a book with Louise & wrote the exhibition's accompanying text, which can be found here:
nicellebeauchene.com/exhibitions/...
I love this one, Kim....
Be right there....
Beautiful, beautiful! Thank you, k
∞
Yes—at least in part! But these diagrams, as I understand them, also honor deities, and serve to draw in, or gather, positive energy, which is a bit different than warding off the opposite....
Thank you, thank you!
My partner in crime, @herbert_pfostl, has an exhibition opening at Bolinas Museum next Saturday! "Between Field and Firmament” will be up through August 6th. He will be in conversation with the curator in an event titled "The Hard Part is Silence" on June 24th. Details below!
Rena Papaspyrou's "Photocopies directly from matter," 1980-1981. Thanks to Steve Roden for introducing me to Papaspyrou's work. Sadly, it's nearly impossible to find any of her books in print.
Rena Papaspyrou (b. 1938), "Geography—Images through Matter," 1981, Metal Sheet with Traces of Cement and Graphite. For S.R.
As we enter the "rainy season" in California, I turn to Mary Webb, unabashedly, and look for those passages about about how the low lands draw storms & night after night on the apples descend rains that are thick, permanent wires taut between heaven and earth.
Liliana Porter, Plate V from Wrinkle, photogravure, 1968.
It's that time of year when the westering sun sets the windows on fire at the end of the day. And the Golden-Crested Sparrow has arrived with its melancholy, whistling song. Image: Sun flares & light leaks in the last exposed sheet of decades-old Polaroid film.
A favorite: "And the heaps of coral of every type and hue, animated by a melancholy and bracing light, began to glow as though each little stone carried its own microscopic lantern within its delicate interior."
— Joseph Roth, Der Leviathan, 1938.
Yet at times between two everyday words a few syllables of 'dead' languages will slip out, ghost-words that have the transparency of a flame at high noon. — Pierre Klossowski, Diana at her Bath, 1968
Notes from this evening's reading: phosphorous in a fawn’s finest bone; pearl in a sparrow’s buried vocal chord; iron in the last breath of a badger.
Days when nothing particular happens, but which are made secretly resonant by a nonetheless unfamiliar dimension, like the hollow space inside a musical instrument. — Philippe Jaccottet, Through an Orchard, Aquila Publishing, Isle of Skye, 1978
These Days: Projecting Super 8 and staring at the wall. #Bolex
The earth was like a magnet which pulled me and sometimes I came near it, this identification or annihilation that I longed for. — Jean Rhys, Smile Please: An Unfinished Autobiography, 1979.
Couple standing in front of Barnett Newman's Vir Heroicus Sublimis, 1951-1952.
The vulnerability of precious things is beautiful because vulnerability is a mark of existence. — Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace, 1947. HBD S.W.
Pasted on the cover of an old notebook: "source of, may be extinguished while we still see its rays.
Signal Lights: Hedda Sterne's drawings from the 1960s and 1970s—the Baldanders and the Lettuces. A mystic who loved Simone Weil & road-tripped with Delores Del Rio, who used a magnifying glass to continue drawing when she lost her vision as she neared the age of one hundred. Yes!