Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Ghost Home Press

Remember when I went back to MA three weeks ago to see my childhood home for the last time? Here are some photos:

This is my house. Ok, this is the shed behind the house.

The tree shadows above remind me of a letter James Schuyler wrote to John Button in 1956:
"It isn't that I don't like shadows (I adore them!) but I certainly don't like what Larry [Rivers], for instance, sometimes does with them, which is to put pure color where the light falls and slime where it doesn't. After all, if you walk out of the sunlight into a dark doorway you don't necessarily smack into a pile of shit. And it's in-observant of Fairfield [Porter] to imagine that a shadow is simply a hue of the same color; a tree does not always cast a dark green shadow on a light green lawn...I hope you'll be able to paint a lot this summer in natural light: if the world is a good looker, it's the sun that makes it so."
This is the swamp in the woods behind our house:
This tree finally broke. It was hollow. I used to hide inside it when we played hide-and-seek and just pray that spiders weren't crawling all over me.

Our moss was so green. I used to imagine having a moss-bed.
This stream ran across our driveway. Like, there was a stream in our driveway. I used to sit in the driveway and make mud sculptures with the silt from the stream that would collect in puddles. In the winter it would freeze and cars would get stuck. Late for school, was stuck in the driveway.
Wild turkeys! 

Birch. In Colorado we have Aspen. Aspen are more golden then birch. I knew it was bad for the trees, but sometimes I would peal the birch bark off the tree in a giant strip and write on it with colored pencil and pretend it was an Egyptian scroll.

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