Tuesday, May 5, 2020

Eighty Memories for Eighty Years: #77 Contents: contains words

This is an artists' book by Carolyn Qualle.
It was delivered to me in the mail. 
I opened the box to find leaves inside.
On the leaves were words printed in beautiful fonts.

Was Carolyn playing with leaves on stamps and 
leaves of pages in books in this artwork?
Ria Meronek is responsible for organizing the Writers Group I am part of, a spin off from a University of Calgary Continuing Education class called Writing for Women.

There were 10 or so women to begin with.

Now only Catharine Warren, Carolyn Qualle, Ria and I are left.

We began by meeting at each other’s homes.

"contains words"
We would spend the first part of the meeting doing a common writing exercise, and the second half of the meeting critiquing each other’s work. Catharine has finished and self-published a book in that time.

Carolyn was part of a book launch last year.  Ria continues to keep the meetings happening.

I needed a writers’ group, a place to go where I could think about words – how to put them together so that other people would want to read them. I needed practical advice about crafting my own writing, how to make it clearer, succinct, how to embellish when I am too spare, how to make spare when I embellish.

Box contents: words on leaves
"Amplitude, Vespers, Flame, Brindled, Russet, Jonagold and Pippin"
Here is where I met the challenge to call myself a writer.

What description could I give myself about my writing? I couldn’t say the words, I am a writer, until I had practiced many time

I have such a warm feeling toward the women in this group, an expansive feeling since they have taken me on journeys of thought and words previously unimagined by me.

I name my experiences with this group as one of my cherished memories.

One day I received a package in the mail.

I didn’t realize it was an artists’ book, a work of art that uses the form of a book.

If you say the phrase, artists’ book, have the emphasis on artists’ rather than on book.


... spreading the leaves out 
so I can read the words on them ...
The package was 3.76” x 3.75”, with a brown paper wrapping on which was my address, and a return address.

On the stamps are images of black cranberries, green maple leaves and shells.

In red letters on the front are written the phrase, “contains words”.

The back of the package gives who published the book: FRIENDS / of the / EGG LADY / P R E SS.

Inside the box are leaves, pressed leaves of different colours and shapes and onto which are written the following words: Amplitude, Vespers, Flame, Brindled, Russet, Jonagold and Pippin.

I love this artist’s book.

... name of the press on the back of the artist's book ...
I have never known where exactly it should go, nor with whom to share it with.

A big treasure that occupies a small space in my china cabinet.

Contents: contains words

Arta

2 comments:

  1. What a treasured memory Arta. You have stuck with this group for a long time.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The group began, but as time went on, people slipped away to do other important things. For me, the important thing to be found was in that group. One long-time member died. Karen Jones. She was a master at writing dialogue. You know how strange it is that people's paths cross. She had been in my Grade X English class with Mrs. Witherspoon. And Mrs. Witherspoon would deserve a post of her own for her impact on me. She wrote a stanza from Rupert Brooke on the blackboard. It contained the phrase, "the rough male kiss of blankets". I just did NOT look at the side of the room where that blackboard was. I had no idea how she dared write that.

    Below is that phrase in context from "The Great Lover".

    These I have loved:
    White plates and cups, clean-gleaming,
    Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust;
    Wet roofs, beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust
    Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food;
    Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood;
    And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers;
    And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours,
    Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon;
    Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon
    Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss
    Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is
    Shining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen
    Unpassioned beauty of a great machine;
    The benison of hot water; furs to touch;
    The good smell of old clothes; and other such—
    The comfortable smell of friendly fingers,
    Hair's fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers
    About dead leaves and last year's ferns. . . .

    ReplyDelete

If you are using a Mac, you cannot comment using Safari. Google Chrome, Explorer or Foxfire seem to work.