I saw you fall hard and straight to the ground--
harvested, we are told-- destined for the mill, to be stripped of your bark, but somehow you got away. You slipped from the ties that held you to ride on a foreign sea-- a Romany life for a creature once so firmly bound to the earth-- your growth rings brutally displayed. But it could not last forever, the tides brought you back again; I saw you on the gravel beach, pushed by every wave (allied in feeling that you did not belong) until you were quietly abandoned, immobile, to your fate. The last time I was there, you were propped up in the sand-- a plaything for humans on this strange Black Beauty journey of yours-- A driftwood structure on their playland shore. Nancy Christiansen
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"A Life" was written for a particular tree that had shaded me from the afternoon sun for years but was removed by a developer. I watched as it was cut down, accompanied by the howling of a chainsaw, there one moment and then abruptly gone.
My vision of an errant log adrift on the sea was fostered by the many logs that have washed up on the beaches of Deception Pass and often used by beachgoers for forts or sculptures. After writing the poem, I saw a photograph of a large raft of corralled logs being moved down Deception Pass to be processed. I composed this poem during a sleepless night. The fragment of the poem that came to me was from Philip Larkin's "An Arundel Tomb" recording his visit to Chichester Cathedral where he had seen the tomb of a royal couple who died in the fourteenth century.
The tomb was a sculpted stone memorial effigy of the Earl of Arundel and his second wife lying side-by-side. In the poem, he observed that the snow had fallen "undated" in the intervening centuries and that a "bright litter of birdcalls strewed the same bone-littered ground." (I was impressed that he managed to insert "strewed" and "litter" into the same phrase. A litter can refer to a stretcher used to carry a sick or wounded person, and flowers can be strewn over a grave.) Philip Larkin is one of the most popular modern English poets. Her body set in stone,
a medieval noblewoman sleeps for eternity-- awareness usurped by vacancy, all feeling gone-- a state far removed from mine for, without reason, I am awake. I deserve to be asleep (having walked eight miles) but stranded in limbo, the mind refuses, fretting when I should be dreaming. As a child, I would lie awake with pleasure, evading sleep with my thoughts as companions-- all in harmony. Was it that dodgy tuna sandwich (left in a hot car) or a surfeit of fruit (bounty of fall) that leaves me restless and queasy, spinning me round in my bed, trapped in a well-wrapped shroud? Nancy Christiansen Braiding a river, hanging a valley,
carving a landscape-- shearing, abrading, folding, faulting, uplifting, warping, erupting, Nature fashions herself into a buttercup. Nancy Christiansen Let me be reincarnated as a fortunate drop of rain--
hurled against rocks, spattered on the road exposed, heedless, cycling through earth's drama without hesitation or remorse, resurrected to the sky. Opaque as floating fog or coloring a distant cloud with a rainbow sheen, tumbling past Zeus flinging lightning bolts-- the thunder amplified by the rattle of hail-- I could be as fearsome as an ocean storm or as hoped for as desert rain: cold-blooded, warm-blooded, frozen, splashing, languid-- all my moods perfectly formed. And with my serpentine gene, I will bend rivers through the land, linger as a reflection on a lake, then hurtle over rapids and waterfalls as a dash of white foam, feel the frisson of belonging until a quiet shallow tempts me downward to the caress of mud below. A root will take me in, to send me coursing up a tree where I might swell a bud to flower or, better yet, slip into a leaf and edging past its walls, be breathed into the air, floating upward—arctic white-- to become a flake of snow. The benediction of falling snow transformed into a glacier's patient crawl, I will become ice carving furrows into rock before becoming a river running free: spring will carry me to the ocean to be the sparkle on cavorting waves or keeper of sullen depths-- guardian of all, from whales to manatees. Floating with the tides, I will again be a beat in the cadence of raindrops, the cannonade of an avalanche, the lamentation of a stream-- or perhaps be snared by a passing bird, softly netted by the bristles of its feathered breast, consumed by the fire of its tiny heart: I could be that marvelous drop of rain. Nancy Christiansen Lisel Mueller, William Carlos Williams, Elizabeth Bishop, W. S. Merwin, and Loren Eiseley
While working on collages depicting different strata of earth, I became interested in patterns that the roots of different plants create—patterns we usually cannot appreciate from our vantage point above ground, but a realm that raindrops can penetrate and transform. In her poem "What a Dog Might Hear", Lisel Mueller conjectures that a dog might hear " the sound of spiders breathing and the roots mining the earth: it may be asparagus heaving, headfirst, into the light." William Carlos Williams was a doctor as well as a poet. His poem "Spring and All" describes the road to the hospital with the "broad, muddy fields brown with dried weeds" alongside it and "all around them the cold, familiar wind." Today there is grass, but he promises "tomorrow the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf." Change has arrived and "rooted, they grip down and begin to awaken." Elizabeth Bishop is one of my favorite poets. Although she was from New England, she lived in Petropolis, Brazil for many years. In her "Song for the Rainy Season", she writes that "Without water the great rock will stare unmagnetized, hard, no longer wearing rainbows or rain, the forgiving air and high fog gone; the owls will move on...." In another Bishop poem "At the Fishhouses", she says that if you taste seawater, it will be "dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free, drawn from the cold hard mouth of the world." Water and patterns associated with it are popular subjects for painters. As might be expected from an inhabitant of a dry land, especially on with a Moorish history, fountains were often featured in the Spanish painter Joaquin Sorolla's works. He seems to have emphasized the patterns of falling and swirling water as much as he celebrated the color of the garden flowers. The water's movement also contrasts with the solidity of the buildings serving as a backdrop for the gardens. Monet is famous for his very large paintings of the reflections on his ponds and the influence they had on subsequent painters. W. S. Merwin was prolific poet and conservationist. Clouds in his poem "Still Water" are the forebears of the "fine rain gathered in rills among the hidden crags." After "taking along flakes of starlight moonlight daylight down through the wild distances", the water finally "lies there at last by its green pasture and cradles the stillness of the empty sky." In The Immense Journey, Loren Eiseley recounts a day when he floated on his back down the Platte River. He writes that turtles, fish, frogs, and humans are "concentrations...of that indescribable and liquid brew that is compounded in varying proportions of salt and sun and time. It has appearances, but at its heart lies water...." Eiseley grew up in Nebraska and later became head of the anthropology department at the University of Pennsylvania. "What the Dog Might Hear" and "Spring and All" are both included in the Discovery of Poetry by Frances Mayes which was first published by Harcourt Brace and a later paperback edition was published in 2001 by Harvest. "Song for the Rainy Season" and "At the Fishhouses" are in Poems / Elizabeth Bishop published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux in 2011. In 2016, Copper Canyon Press published Merton's poem in Garden Time and The Immense Journey was published by Random House in 1957. We have explained earth's runic language,
interpreted its layers of fossils and forms, recorded and transcribed its marbled notations—its colors, hierarchies, textures, and ancient but still changing ways-- established a chronology to chart its events, to give a history to earth and its days. We have hypothesized a molten center, grinding tectonic plates diving under others of their kind, a weathered skin scraped clean by glaciers-- swamps, then ice ages, swamps again, snow-- the catastrophic nature of comets and volcanoes, and the erosive effects of water and time. The atmosphere has been appointed earth's muse, its billowing clouds as the breath of life, cleaver of valleys, leveler of hills, and creator of seas: vapors, winds, and waves are under her decree with floods and droughts as their consequence, uniting the planet in an interwoven connectedness. The old maps had it right-- monsters are lurking in the depths and those medieval bestiaries were not strange enough to explain the fossils that we have dug up: a parade of characters from trilobites to dinosaurs sinking from rulers at the tops to momento mori down below. Then came humans and agriculture: crop circles, fret of fields, cities, mines, serious dams, airports and planes, skyscrapers, freeways, constant wars, dumps, industry (light and heavy), strip malls-- now a planet betrayed and debased by human flaws. In the end, a reckoning will come and the earth itself will record our tale. The speed of the planet as it sweeps through space is beyond our senses, its bulk, its turning beyond our control, the earth holds us close and here we will remain-- not dust and ashes or tattered grasses, but both bone and clay. Nancy Christiansen Katherine Swift and Loren Eiseley
The English writer Katherine Swift created a garden in Shropshire and wrote about the experience in The Morville Hours, using the Book of Hours as her inspiration. In her book, she recounted some of her area's earlier history. During the Pleistocene Ice Age, Morville was covered by an ice sheet which would sometimes surge, "the ground vibrating with a roar like that of a continuous volcanic eruption", but then would retreat, the glacier sporting a "dirty white snout" with its meltwater "accompanied by the trickling of gravels, the noise of stones falling from the hillside...." These quotes are excerpted from just one striking sentence encapsulating the geologic changes which occurred in a three-hundred-year period. In The Immense Journey, Loren Eiseley wrote about the "Cretaceous explosion of a hundred million years ago" that altered the course of evolution. Instead of the limited world of spores and pinecones, seeds were "travelers" that were "skipping and hopping and flying about the woods and valleys" or wielding the "clutching hooks of sandburs." The "world of giants" was being replaced by one of color, pollen, and nectar. The Morville Hours was published in Britain by Bloomsbury in 2008 and in the United States in 2009 by Walker and Company. The Immense Journey was published in 1957 by Random House. Frilled, branching, bushy,
Appaloosa spotted, bright green, copper red shredded seaweed ferried by the waves-- one lone white feather drifting and bobbing, and a lone pirate gull out to plunder but the fish are huddled safely far below. Alligator kelp—its head an untethered golden sphere—lurking, spying, waiting before a skirmish on the beach, its seaweed limbs wrestling with the waves, rolling to and fro; an opaque jellyfish floats by, slipping away on some mission of its own. Cormorants as champagne corks bursting upward from surging tides below, the red-stockinged legs of diving guillemots kicking out from their black-and-white feather petticoats, then the torpedo mushroom body of a harbor seal-- its careful dark eyes watching me before it disappears. Swarming yellowjackets presiding, an auklet laid out in the sand with an honor guard of coiled kelp and sentry sparrows; white butterflies listing above tributes of thistles and daisies, mustard and purple bouquets swaying, bleached and softened by wind and sun. Beyond the beach, waves of clouds catch on the spines of distant mountains while braying seagulls celebrate the return of sated fishing boats. Two passing terns circle overhead with a lone osprey sailing by and, on the way home, three sturdy red hens stride down a country road. Nancy Christiansen J.A. Baker, Mary Oliver, and Loren Eiseley
Seeing and hearing birds provide some of the highlights of my day. Lists of birds seen are less important than observing their lives. Today many bird populations are declining precipitously. During J.A. Baker's life, peregrine falcons appeared doomed to extinction because of DDT and an earlier British government policy of killing the birds to protect messenger pigeons during the second world war. In a quest to record their lives before that potential outcome, Baker spent many days during the years 1954 to 1964 in Britain following the peregrines left in his area and then condensing his observations into the powerful and beautiful language of The Peregrine. Robert MacFarlane praised Baker's accomplishment in both the introduction to the New York Times' edition of The Peregrine and in a later Guardian April 15th book column in 2017. Comparing Baker's descriptions of hawks and owls with those of the American poet Mary Oliver, I discovered some parallels. Baker described the peregrine hawk as a "tiny silver flake on the blue burnish of the sky." The bird was "a dark blade cutting slowly through the blue ice" and changing "color like an autumn leaf, passing from shining gold to pallid yellow, turning from tawny to brown...." In "Hawk", Oliver's bird "is heaven's fistful of death and destruction" that "seemed to crouch high in the air, and then it turned into a white blade, which fell." Finding a barn owl on a post, Baker observed that the "bland meditative mask of its face" was "looking at me from the grey of the field." In the poem "White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field", Mary Oliver wrote that her owl was " a buddha with wings" and that it "rose, gracefully, and flew back to the frozen marshes, to lurk there, like a little lighthouse, in the blue shadows." In The Immense Journey, the paleontologist Loren Eiseley mused that "Birds are intense, fast-moving creatures—reptiles, I suppose one might say, that have escaped out of the heavy sleep of time, transformed fairy creatures dancing over sunlit meadows." A wintering area for many seabirds, Deception Pass is a channel in the Salish Sea with strong currents and whirlpools. According to Between the Tides in Washington and Oregon by Ryan Kelly, Terrie Klinger, and John Meyer, the quality of the water differs markedly between the eastern and western sides of the pass. The water on the eastern side has a higher proportion of fresh water because of the rivers flowing into it while the western side is saltier and colder, and this accounts for the differences in the species living in the two areas. The Peregrine was first published by HarperCollins in 1967 and reissued in 2004 by New York Review Classics. "White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field" was published in Owls and Other Fantasies by Beacon Press in 2006. The Immense Journey was published by Random House in 1957. In primordial earth's igneous seas,
fantastical creatures sprouted; weaving through the filtering net of time and carried by the ocean's roll and sway, these nascent ancestors—lightning borne-- were delivered from eons of subtle charms when exultant waves ferried the beasts to the beckoning lightness of air washed over by a ripple of stars. Fledgling pilgrims swept onto land-- colonists to continents of variegated hues-- who learned to creep, to jump, to run, to fly, and finally, with feathers, soar. Of our relations who stayed behind, a glimpse is sometimes granted: drummed out by the thump of waves, small gifts of whimsy, heirlooms, memories-- upended, displaced—are abandoned on the shore. Unwilling exiles from a heaving world of scales, fins, staring eyes, and pearls, amber (the color of quince) marooned jellyfish (drifting voyagers shipwrecked and scuppered) mix with lines of seaweed to mark the ocean's retreat while pierced and broken shells make the notes-- reclaimed, scattered, then restated-- the same revolving music creates the moon's palimpsest, summoning and transforming all. Nancy Christiansen Amy Clampitt, Elizabeth Bishop, Blaise Cendrars, and Derek Walcott
I began this poem intending to write about the long striding shadows of winter and the intersecting patterns of animal tracks across the sand, but the poem found its way to becoming one about time. In his book about the poet Amy Clampitt, Nothing Stays Put, Willard Spiegelman notes that "writing has a mind of its own." Before she became a poet, Clampitt was surprised and "rather frightened" when "sentences broke in a way that was not my usual style" and "they had begun to reach out for rhymes" as she was writing about mortality. In Elizabeth Bishop's poem "Sandpiper", the bird stares at the sand which is "black, white, tan, and gray mixed with quartz grains, rose, and amethyst" while Amy Clampitt observed in "Beach Glass" that the ocean "goes on shuffling its millenniums of quartz, granite, and basalt." In the same poem, Clampitt records the "amber of Budweiser, chrysoprase of Almaden and Gallo, lapis by the way of (no getting around it, I'm afraid) Phillip"s Milk of Magnesia...." Blaise Cendrars was a novelist, poet, and world traveler. Born in Switzerland, he abandoned his birth name of Frederic-Louis Sauser and became a French citizen. Cendrars adopted a modern style of poetry, sometimes collaborating with French artists. His poem "Fish Cove" observes the "prismatic sway of hanging jellyfish" and the "yellow pink lilac fish taking flight" by the "white bushes of coral." The seashore is a popular motif for painters. Many California artists have depicted the intersection between the ocean and land, with its brilliant light during the day and its more subdued mood at twilight and at night. The Laguna area was a popular site for this endeavor beginning in the early twentieth century. Winslow Homer and Marsden Hartley are just two of the painters of East Coast beaches and Sorolla, Monet, and Matisse also featured beaches in their works. In his poem "The Sea is History", San Lucian poet Derek Walcott compared the Caribbean monuments to those of Europe. Walcott leads the reader through the sea with its "colonnades of coral, past the gothic windows of sea fans to...groined caves with barnacles pitted like stone" that "are our cathedrals...." Walcott was also an enthusiastic painter of seaside scenes. Nothing Stays Put was published by Knopf in 2023 and "Sandpiper" is in Poems/Elizabeth Bishop published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux in 2011. Czeslaw Milosz included "Fish Cove" in his A Book of Luminous Things published by Harcourt in 1996. Derek Walcott's poetry can be found at poetryfoundation.org. "The Sea Is History" was originally published in the Paris Review in 1978. Roberto Burle Marx, Adrian Berg, Edouard Vuillard, Katherine Swift, and Marilyn Krysl
Roberto Burle Marx was a Brazilian landscape designer, plant collector, and artist. He painted, sculpted, and designed tapestries but is best known for his work designing parks, gardens, and the Copacabana promenade on Avenida Atlantica. Hoping to preserve Amazonian flora, he brought back plants to be propagated in the greenhouses surrounding his home. He created a lush garden there and, after his death, Sitio Roberto Burle Marx was donated to the Brazilian government. Two artists who painted public gardens were Adrian Berg and Edouard Vuillard. Enamored with Monet's practice of dedicating a series of works to one subject, Berg spent decades painting aspects of Regent Park in London throughout the changing seasons. Vuillard made sketches, paintings, and panels depicting Place Vintimille, a busy square close to his apartment. Some public gardens have had an outsized influence on my appreciation of gardens. One of the world's best collection of cacti is part of the Huntington Botanical Gardens, which includes many mature specimens from Baja California, the Sonoran and Chihuahuan deserts, the California deserts, South America, the Canary Islands, and Madagascar, along with South African succulents. Palms and cycads, camelias, roses, and a Japanese garden are some of the other collections with Australian, subtropical, and jungle as the newer gardens. Designed by Antonio Gaudi, Parq Guell is a mix of whimsical buildings and structures located in Barcelona. Its curving benches covered with colorful broken ceramic pieces inspired my first stamps. Seattle Japanese Garden reveals not only the aesthetic of Japanese gardens but also serves as a reminder of the influence that Japanese gardeners have had on private gardens on the West Coast. Both the Van Dusen Botanical Garden in Vancouver B.C. and the J. Paul Getty Museum in southern California provide the luxury of walking through a large expanse of varied plantings, with the added pleasure of being able to move from outdoors into art exhibits and back again at the museum. What gardens have a special resonance for you? In The Morville Hours, Katherine Swift describes her late summer garden's "golden light, like a rich old Sauternes, full and sweet. Sugars caramelize in the leaves—tones of butterscotch, cinder toffee, treacle tart; quince paste, marmalade, toffee apple; Beaujolais, cassis, Lynch-Bages." In her book The Discovery of Poetry, Frances Mayes points out the pleasures of naming things. As an example, she includes Marilyn Krysl's poem "Saying Things." In one section of the poem Krysl asks you to "Say eye, say shearwater, alewife, apache, harpoon, do you see what I'm saying, say celery, say Seattle, say a whole city, say San Jose." She ends her poem by writing that saying words adds "a shimmer and the bird song of its sound...." Which words appeal to you? "The Back Garden" was written for the trees that were cut down to clear the land for development behind my garden. The Morville Hours was published in Britain by Bloomsbury in 2008 and in the United States in 2009 by Walker and Company. The Discovery of Poetry was originally published by Harcourt Brace and a later paperback edition was published by Harvest in 2001. Pressing against the back fence, the laurel grove
unchecked, fecund, divides the garden from the doomed land beyond—the sanctuary of the laurels' sheltering leaves and skeletal limbs welcoming ghosts and refugees. And in the distance rise islands of cedar and fir vertical, ascending, their tiers of drapery undulate above honeysuckle cresting the hedge; hung with morning glory streamers, the vines fling up a tumult of flowery spume-- gold charged with red. Metallic bronze, the garden statue stands bright, hard surrounded by yellow yarrow wedges punctuated by geraniums of blue, the hostas and ferns mingling with anemone, lady's mantle, and Queen Anne's lace overlaid with the scent of sweet peas, lilies, phlox. A rising nucleus of ivory butterflies gathering, detaching, fluttering electrons that spiral up to meet berry blossoms floating down around them into a verdigris ocean of waiting shadows etched with cryptic webs. The complement of resident birds emerges: a shuffling spotted towhee, the blue rattle of jays, the earth tones of blustery chickadees, hummingbirds hovering and hectoring, the robin's white-ringed glare. And when the laurel fruit ripens juicy, magenta, mobs of resolute starlings descend, and two popsicle bright tanagers—flying south-- join in the cacophony of harvesting until that ancient imperative pushes them on again. Thick black and gold dragonflies (and thin blue ones too) posed, still, listen to the wren (cousin to White Rabbit) whispering and sighing over the troubles to come, his warnings of ruin approaching, heads imperiled, as the garden drifts into fall. Nancy Christiansen Peacock feathers, mother-of-pearl,
flickering auroras, the phosphorescent shimmer of sea creatures, beetles, and bugs. Side-by-side on rainbow bands, captured in both copper's iridescence and in the feathers of a teal, blue and green have been celebrated throughout time and around the world. From a glazed blue hippo conceived by the Nile to the garden murals and green chariots of early Rome, from Mexico's jade skulls as repositories of ancient passions to the swirling lines drawn by Gaelic monks in the Book of Kells; the Chinese created both blue-on-white porcelain and the pale green of celadon, while calligraphy graces Middle Eastern ceilings and walls with green as the Prophet's chosen color—symbol of Islam. From a giant blue wave cresting over a miniature Mount Fuji to Europe's brilliant blue stained glass—the pride of Chartres and Saint Denis; precious lapis lazuli was used to paint both the Buddha and the Virgin Mary, and worshippers in Byzantine churches were dazzled by distant mosaic figures arrayed in robes of scattered tesserae of green and blue mixed with gold. Dufy painted racetracks in blazes of blues and greens: a life of gaiety and bright dresses, horses running on spring turf, on canvases garlanded with masses of fresh flowers. His Nice is a scant half-circle of white washed over by deep blue water and sky and Amphitrite waits, a shell pressed to her ear, encircled by a woven cerulean sea. Lorca divined a green ocean in a snail. Green has many guises—new life and renewal but a sign also of envy and bile, the color once of monsters and devils. Blue ranges from sustainer of life to shorthand for a life without hope: Picasso's blue period, Plath's blue saints adrift in a blue void-- colors as catalysts or mirrors of human feeling? Stretching from Fred Williams' Australian shores to the Indian maharajas' royal hunting grounds, from Van Gogh's gardens to the Duc de Berry's Book of Hours-- the passing seasons and the pleasures taken there-- these defining colors of our planet are now jeopardized and under siege, colors of sustenance and consequence-- life depends on our legacy of blue and green. Nancy Christiansen Raoul Dufy, Fred Williams, John Preston, Sylvia Plath, Marianne Moore, and Charles Bowden
Raoul Dufy was a French painter with an imaginative and fluent style. Besides painting, he worked in fabric and tapestry design, ceramic decoration, wood engravings and lithography. His larger works included stage sets and murals, particularly his fresco for the Exposition Internationale. Dufy was inspired by the sea, first in his hometown of Le Havre and later when he was living by the Mediterranean. He painted the sea goddess Amphitrite numerous times and designed two tapestries featuring her image, with the 1936 version showing the goddess holding a scallop shell to the ear. He even painted her image on the bathroom door of a Paris mansion. Fred Williams' succinct marks in his minimalist painting style summarized the landscape of Australia's interior in earth colors, but his work depicting the coast proved to be an exception with a palette of blues and greens. Many of these works were strip gouaches that Deborah Hart, in her book Fred Williams: Infinite Horizons, described as an effort by the artist to return to nature after his involvement with minimalism. References to blue pervade Sylvia Plath's remarkable poem "The Moon and the Yew Tree." She wrote that the "light of the mind" is cold and blue and that the clouds are "flowering blue." In the last stanza, she concluded that "the saints will be all blue, floating on their delicate feet over cold pews, their hands and faces stiff with holiness." (John Preston in The Dig stated that " I felt like one of the apostles from a medieval wall painting whose feet hang in the air, limp and white, to show how they are being blown about by divine winds.") Conjuring up images of blue and green in "The Fish", Marianne Moore invoked "crow-blue mussel-shells", "ink-bespattered jellyfish, crabs like green lilies", and shafts of sunlight "like spun glass...illuminating the turquoise sea." In his book The Blue Desert, Charles Bowden claimed that even the desert can be blue. While hiking through the desert at night, he found that the "ocotillo waves blue wands." Initially the color was ahead of him but then he entered it "like water" and then "everything is awash with a rich, bright blue." Which examples of blue and green would you choose? "The Moon and the Yew Tree" was published in 1961 by Harper & Row in Ariel. The poem can also be found on the All Poetry website. Moore's poem was first published in 1918 but I found it in The Poems of Marianne Moore published in 2005 by Penguin Classics. The Dig was published in 2007 by Viking. Charles Bowden covered crime for the Tucson Citizen newspaper and edited City Magazine when I lived in Tucson. He revealed Charles Keating's part in the savings and loan scandal as well as the dark side of life in the desert along the Mexican border. The Blue Desert was published by the University of Arizona Press in 2018. |
AuthorI am a Northwest artist making collages from mulberry papers stamped by hand from original images that I have carved. Archives
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