Archives (Thursday Doors)
I am
ephemera–
the residue
of paper and glue
maybe saved
but maybe
not—no one
sees me now–
I am
neither lost
nor found–
just here
Seeing Man Ray’s “Revolving Doors” prints at the Met made me think of all the collages I did in the 1980s, including many of abstracted doors. The prints, “a mix of figurative and mechanistic forms” were first collages, and then transferred to prints with porchoir, a stencil-based printing technique I had never heard of.
There were 10 different prints, which Man Ray mounted in what he called revolving doors. Supposedly when you spin them, they work one to the other in a kind of cinematic composition.
The collages of my youth were much simpler than what I do now, which is the opposite of how things are supposed to go. I like them, but I could never recreate that style.
They were packed away in storage and forgotten for over 30 years, until I decided to clear out my portfolios. A lot of them used Pantone Paper left over from my design work doing color paste ups of stripes. I’m sure all that work is done on a computer now.
I still collect all kinds of paper–it’s a big component for my art. I prefer texture and working with my hands to screens. I’m also aware of the fact that it disintegrates. Which is part of its appeal, its non-preciousness.
The prompt this week from Dennis at W3 to write from the point of view of some ordinary non-emotive thing made me think–paper in and of itself is insignificant. A collage I do and then put in a portfolio and never look at in a way ceases to exist. But everything takes on meaning if it intersects our lives. Something like a broken stapler or even the lint in a dryer can take on a lot of meaning, depending on context. And there is always context.
I’ve also used Esther Chilton’s writing prompt word save.
And don’t forget to check in with host Dan Antion for more doors at Thursday Doors.
I’m taking an early break for the holidays. Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate!
Phoenix (Draw a Bird Day)
blood of water, woods, earth–
birth in death
breath transforming air into wind, wild
child of the dawn,
eons compressed between
unseen boundaries
freezing in hard fire, ashes becoming
humming sounds, wings
singing legends, serving the sky,
high above the morning star glowing
blowing currents ancient, storied–
blood of water, woods, earth
I don’t have any new bird art, but thought I would do a post on the Phoenix, as I knew I had a few pieces of both art and poetry that feature this mythical bird.
The Phoenix is most associated with Greek mythology, though firebirds are features of cultures all over the world. Some think the Egyptian Bennu bird, a manifestation of the sun god Ra, is the source of the Greek myth. Other related birds include the Chinese Fenghuang, the Hindu Garuda, the Jewish Milcham, the Slavic Firebird, the Persian Simurgh, and the Native American Thunderbird. Early Christians adopted the Phoenix as a symbol of the immortal soul and the resurrection of Jesus.
There are a few variations of the myth. They all agree that the Phoenix is long-lived, anywhere from 500 years to thousands. It resides in Paradise, or nests in the Tree of Life, or lives in the City of the Sun. It always rises from the ashes of its predecessor, but often it first builds a nest of herbs and spices that is ignited by a spark from the sun. Sometimes it sings a haunting farewell song. And in some stories it constructs a cremation egg and puts the previous Phoenix’s ashes inside.
I did two posts on the I Ching Hexagram #30 (Fire/Clarity) which both referenced the Phoenix, although in the second collage I represented the rising bird with an owl.
#30 Li Clarity
“Shed your light into the darkness of other lives—with joy accept the connection with all things and be a part of it.”—dreamhawk.com
To enter
you must meet, then turn
back. You must
return and
then leave. You must find words that
disconnect meaning.
Now burning,
now drowning, the waves
washing pure
energy
down dark deep, spiraling wheels
across the cosmos,
Unbridged nets
capturing sudden
stillness—wings
emerging,
multiplying time with fire–
opening beyond.
I also wrote a Phoenix haiku for the Pure Haiku theme of Celestial Bodies in 2018
Your ashes illume,
cradled beyond day and night –
great is the unknown
As a symbol of regeneration and spiritual renewal, the Phoenix represents the ideas of time and eternity, and creation and destruction. It is also thought to be a guardian of sacred sites, and a protector of ancient wisdom.
November 2025
what hides in silence–
entire worlds beyond words–
deeper energies
windsongs swimming through
the mirror of mind–
melodies that float
boundless, pure–currents
from a distant hazy shore–
a glittered stillness
sailing the setting
sun like a boat on becalmed
enchanted waters
nothing exists on the edge
of meaning but fate, drifting
For the W3 prompt this week from Artie to write “a mystery of landscape”. November has always seemed like a riddle to me, much more layered than any other month. I’ve also used Esther Chilton’s prompt word edge.
For my grid I cut up a painting of an owl from an old calendar and a recent advertisement bundled with my newspaper which featured a leopard. Both mysterious creatures, as so many of the world’s wonders are.
Diane Arbus
was the inspiration for this week’s Kick About
The Kick-About #142 ‘Vertumnus’
Fun with foliage.
Spinning
This week’s Kick-About played around with tops.
Murmuration (Draw a Bird Day)
the way excess
thought leads
to starlings
a geometry
taking wing
–Peter Gizzi, “Suddenly”
I’ve done posts about both starlings and their murmurations before, but I never really did much research about either one.
Starlings are an introduced species to the United States. One story has it that they were released in Central Park in the late 1800s in an attempt to populate it with all the birds mentioned by Shakespeare, but that has never been definitively proven. Another theory is that they were brought here in an effort to reduce insect pests, which they are very effective at doing.
However they arrived, being adaptable birds, they now number in the millions across the North American continent. Starlings are considered an invasive species and are reputed to compete with and displace many native birds, although the Cornell Bird website said that a study done in 2003 shows little effect on other bird populations. Despite the beauty of their murmurations, they can be pests, both because of the sheer size of their flocks, ant the fact that grain crops are a favorite meal.
Social and gregarious, starlings often forage with other birds, including, as I know from my own observations, sparrows, pigeons, robins, grackles, and crows. They are great mimics, as I also know from experience. One of my apartments had a kitchen window right above the roof next door, and every morning they would serenade me with their repertoire of songs. Evidently they can also recognize other individuals by their calls.
A few other things I learned:
–The males build and decorate nests with ornaments including flowers and trash to attract females. They also add herbs to repel insects. Once mated, pairs are monogamous, devoted parents, with both incubating the blue eggs. They nest in cavities–tree hollows or man-made structures.
–They grow new feathers every fall with white tips that make them appear spotted. Over the winter the tips wear away and in spring their plumages appears darker and more iridescent and the reflected colors intensify. Their beaks also become brighter yellow.
–Starlings migrate. I did not realized that as, like robins, many hang around the city all year.
The murmurations are truly wondrous things of beauty. As Wikipedia notes “the flock moves as each individual synchronizes with its nearest group”–thousands of wings creating patterns that appear both random and choreographed.
I’ve written several starling poems of my own–here’s one.
wings scatter in light,
a mystery, their mission
illegible to
human eyes–tantalizing
visions of layered
complexity, a mirror
reflecting the wind–
following a rising path
toward the Seven Sisters
September 2025
September is complicated with ends and beginnings. It’s not always clear which is which. The year has accumulated, and there is so much left undone. I always mean to simplify, but instead of subtracting, everything seems to multiply. Again, again.
Crow is back, spending his mornings standing his chosen ground as high as he can perch on the water tower two buildings over. He complains and proclaims his right to call the neighborhood to attention with the first hint of dawn. Wake up! Wise up!
Too soon the trees will lose their green and their foliage and the branches will make their beautiful winter patterns against the sky.
I puzzle out a grid
while my mind wanders the crossroads
looking for lost time
This is another grid I created by cutting up some of my old textile print designs. The pieces were irregular, which made it like putting together a puzzle. It’s not at all a perfect fit, which is pretty much how life unwinds, at least for me
Sputnik
This week the Kick-About launches itself into the atmosphere above Earth. And I continue my exploration of shadows.
method two madness 
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