Carving panel 3 of "The Moth Burial" at a coffee shop yesterday.
[In process... (reversed in iPhoto)]
I carved Spike's face wrong: I'm going to have to hand-paint a nose/mouth after it's printed. Or not? Depends how the print looks.
Anyway, you can't fix everything--just gotta live with the mistakes.
I'm not sure how this story ends!
A friend suggested something about transformation.
The story so far:
"It is gone.. . . "Until dawn." was her suggestion, which kind of rhymes.
gone. so gone.
Beyond gone. Gone beyond..."
No, that's not what happened, says Penny Cooper. But she's not offering a final line either.
I have glass class today--making the glass globules that we'll wrap in wire next week. Maybe a distraction will help the solution come.
The friend also mentioned Small Deaths, a collection of photographs of Kate Breakey--hand-painted photos of dead birds, flowers, and insects, including moths:
This isn't me though. I'm not––the girlettes aren't––trying or wanting to evoke meaning. They just like to bury things, like kids do.
Hm. Maybe, "Done now."
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