28 June 10
Back from Pennsylvania
Spending a week just outside Gettysburg, studying 9th-century European lettering: bliss. Bliss was the long table with papers and ink and writing easels. Bliss was the conversation with other letterform devotees, sharing table and morning coffee (well, tea in my case) outside in the warm humid dawn. Bliss was rising on the solstice before the sun and greeting it accompanied by a gold flute echoing back the mourning dove’s soft song. Bliss was the delight of learning how to grind stick ink.
Bliss, too, the discovery of voices that haunt this landscape and seem to want to find their way onto paper. I will try and do this as soon as I can before the memory of the lush green rotting landscape evaporates in the Central Valley heat.I sketched at Little Round Top and from Cemetery Ridge, looking down on the field with fences faced by Pickett’s division, marching double time up into Union canister. Ghosts.
Previous: Bafana Bafana! Next: Superstition
Your workshop sounds fabulous – bliss indeed! Even the contrast of landscape seems to have inspired.
sounds heavenly
and your description of the landscape & phenomenal, apt little sketch has tugged my homeplace heartstrings — you’ve depicted it so well — but even if it weren’t my home, it would intrigue
And black vultures, mingling with the TVs, about as far north as the BVs get IIRC.
Habit, I guess.