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Paper Eight on a roll

The eight of us in Paper Eight continue to exhibit together. This time in Kirkland, WA across Lake Washiington from Seattle. This is the most recent in a series of three collaborative exhibitions.
In order from the bottom Dona Anderson, Danielle Bodine, Mary Ashton, moi, Sande Wascher-James and Lois James. Not pictured Dorothy McGuinness and Jean-Marie Tarascio.

Dialogue with the Muse

As long as I can remember I have been accompanied by my Muse. For the last year or so I have found her company to be more and more demanding and persuasive. Out of this experience I have started a series of letters to my muse. The first series, written on hand dyed mulberry paper, has found its way into the form of a pillow and small sheet. After all the muse keeps me up at night. While proper photographs are in process I offer this first bit of text and a snapshot of the whole letter.

Letter #1

I wonder what you name is and there's the question of your gender. When I think of you, I always think of you as a she, as in she [the muse] kept me up all night with her ideas and plots and plans. So you must be a female. I wonder by which honorific do you prefer to be addressed? Are you Ms, Mrs,  Mme, Sra, Mme, or some other of the newer non gender forms of address? Of course, this assume you are a person. The ancients deified the muses, gave them human form and beautiful names that varied by culture.  But who says a muse must be a person. She could be an animal, of course. I am surrounded by animals whom I love. These nonhuman spirits provide me lots of emotional and spiritual nourishment. Bear comes to mind. Does a poodle seem too silly? My muse could be a huge white poodle similar to my beloved Mimi.
It's also that my muse might have taken the name of one of my ancestors. Goodwin, Block, Dumas, Srygley are some family names I know. Or maybe she goes by Mary... a great name for a muse.
What do I know about you? The first thing I know for sure is that you often keep me up at night or wake me up early with your flow of possibilities unspooling, emptying into my mind, disturbing my rest, making my pillow hot.
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