ojobox: the curious lens of memory
16 May 2013
26 April 2013
21 April 2013
from The Catalogue of Courtyard Curiosities
from The Catalogue of Courtyard Curiosities
katydid/cicada wing
polyphemus moth/dragonfly
The offerings from our courtyard, a microcosm, are infinite. This catalogue of curiosities, surreal prizes of a treasure hunt that began long ago in a childhood crouch peering at threads of ants through a magnifying glass and now through a camera lens, is a journal of the flora and fauna of the seasons and their insect ambassadors. An ongoing project.
katydid/cicada wing
polyphemus moth/dragonfly
The offerings from our courtyard, a microcosm, are infinite. This catalogue of curiosities, surreal prizes of a treasure hunt that began long ago in a childhood crouch peering at threads of ants through a magnifying glass and now through a camera lens, is a journal of the flora and fauna of the seasons and their insect ambassadors. An ongoing project.
12 April 2013
05 April 2013
25 March 2013
Artemis
from The Book of Horns
carved into a gallery of bone
the oak scrawl of the hunter's dream
through the splintered halo of death's cataract
the quarry stares
a winter's effigy of a summer's dream
dusty and moth eaten
remember the white tufts and golden throat
the broken ribs of shadows
the red field where the dogs began to run
carved into a gallery of bone
the oak scrawl of the hunter's dream
through the splintered halo of death's cataract
the quarry stares
a winter's effigy of a summer's dream
dusty and moth eaten
remember the white tufts and golden throat
the broken ribs of shadows
the red field where the dogs began to run
22 March 2013
boneleaf
On a winter's evening my mother walked down to the lower barn and found a dead coyote curled up in the hay. She thought it had probably been there for some time and had died after eating a poisoned mouse. I asked her to send me a photograph and I edited it to black and white. It was so much more fragile looking than I had imagined.
The shadow of a heartless scarecrow.
The same day the skeleton fell from the tower and I scooped it up with one hand and laid it on the table.
Bone to muscle, the spring has come.
17 March 2013
through the woods
from The Book of Horns
not a summer orchard but a midwinter forest of blunt forked boughs and barbed eye
a skyland of ravens pierced by the blades of stars and shadow spires
where the ancient fairy tales were first sung
not a summer orchard but a midwinter forest of blunt forked boughs and barbed eye
a skyland of ravens pierced by the blades of stars and shadow spires
where the ancient fairy tales were first sung
12 March 2013
09 March 2013
05 March 2013
02 March 2013
26 February 2013
24 February 2013
12 February 2013
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