what is beneath ....

I have always been fascinated by what lies beneath the surface, what lurks in that dark corner or behind that locked door.  The huge draw to find out what is inside - hidden from view.  I can't remember being like this in my childhood but as a teenager this tendency surfaced and I find that these days this is reflected in much of my work.  The slow reveal, that sense of not knowing or not wanting the viewer to know everything at once.

I received a wonderful comment from Mo Crow in my last posting and asked if she would mind my including it in my next post. It is always wonderful when someone leaves a comment but occasionally that comment comes as a doorway to something else .... in this case not just the discovery of an author whose work I know I will thoroughly enjoy, but also to further reflection on 'the page' and what possibilities it holds.  And there is that absolute envy I have for those that are able to express themselves in such a way - to find the words for those things I simply know in my gut but cannot frame sentences around.

I try to find a way with my imagery.  These photographs are early explorations into three larger works which could be a trilogy but need to each have their own story.  The concept began as works based on 'Elephant Rocks' in Western Australia on the coast between Perth and Albany.  A wonderful discovery of immense boulders and rocks along the coast line, not just at this point but in the vicinity.  Areas which open out and allow bathers to soak up the sun and simmers to enjoy the water.  For me, it was the shape and abundance of forms on this stretch of coast ..... at least that is where this work began.  Again I used some of my engravings to give the background marks, the texture.  By rubbing graphite over the greyed areas I unwittingly found that it revealed the 'writing' hidden beneath.  Because I used thin Japanese papers again, the marks under pressure of the press, embossed into the paper and picked up the graphite as I rubbed it in.  I am not quite certain now where this work will lead - I do know I have used blue .... not brave enough for the bold blue tempting me from the sidelines, but Indigo which worked well with the greys in these works rather than the harsh blacks I have used previously.

and from Margaret Atwood ......

5. The question about the page is; what is beneath it? It seems to have two dimensions, you can pick it up and turn it over and the back is the same as the front. Nothing , you say, disappointed.
But you're looking in the wrong place, you were looking on the back instead of beneath. Beneath the page is another story. Beneath the page is everything that has ever happened, most of which you would rather not hear about.
The page is not a pool but a skin, a skin is there to hold in and it can feel you touching it. Did you really think it would just lie there and do nothing?
Touch the page at your peril: it is you who are blank and innocent, not the page. Nevertheless you want to know, nothing will stop you. You touch the page, it's as if you've drawn a knife across it, the page has been hurt now, a sinuous wound opens up, a thin incision. Darkness wells through.

Mo Crow from It's Crow Time was kind enough to send me the whole essay from Margaret Atwood's book.  I immediately bought the book and though not normally a fan of short stories, am absolutely intrigued by hers.  She has been a prolific writer and I would love to read more of her work .... I wonder if there is a particularly good one to start with??

and from Mo,


Here's the whole piece. Margaret Atwood is one of the most brilliant minds on our beautiful planet!
The Page
by Margaret Atwood
from Murder in the Dark Coach House Press 1983

1. The Page waits, pretending to be blank. Is that its appeal, its blankness? What else is this smooth and white, this terrifyingly innocent? A snowfall, a glacier? It's a desert, totally arid, without life. But people venture into such places. Why? To see how much they can endure, how much dry light?

2. I've said the page is white, and it is; white as wedding dresses, rare whales, seagulls, angels, ice & death.Some say like sunlight it contains all colours; others, that it's white because it's hot, it will burn out your optic nerves; that those who stare at the page too long will go blind.

3. The page has no dimensions and no directions. There's no up or down except what you yourself mark, there's no thickness and weight but those you put there, north and south do not exist unless you 're certain of them. The page is without vistas and without sounds, without centres or edges. Because of this you can become lost forever. Have you never seen the look of gratitude, the look of joy, on the faces of those who have managed to return from the page? Despite their faintness, their loss of blood, they fall on their knees, they push their hands into the earth, they clasp the bodies of those they love, or, in a pinch, any bodies they can get, with an urgency unknown to those who have never experienced the full horror of a journey into the page.

4. If you decide to enter the page, take a knife and some matches, and something that will float. Take something you can hold onto, and a prism to split the light and a talisman that works, which should be hung on a chain around your neck; that's for getting back. It doesn't matter what kind of shoes, but your hands should be bare.You should never go into the page with gloves on. Such decisions, needless to say, should not be made lightly.
There are those, of course, who enter the page without deciding, without meaning to. Some of these have charmed lives and no difficulty, but most never make it out a t all. For them the page appears as a well, a lovely pool in which they catch sight of a face, their own but better. These unfortunates do not jump; rather they fall and the page closes over their heads without a sound, without a seam, and is immediately as whole and empty, as glassy, as enticing as before.

5. The question about the page is; what is beneath it? It seems to have two dimensions, you can pick it up and turn it over and the back is the same as the front. Nothing , you say, disappointed.
But you're looking in the wrong place, you were looking on the back instead of beneath. Beneath the page is another story. Beneath the page is everything that has ever happened, most of which you would rather not hear about.
The page is not a pool but a skin, a skin is there to hold in and it can feel you touching it. Did you really think it would just lie there and do nothing?
Touch the page at your peril: it is you who are blank and innocent, not the page. Nevertheless you want to know, nothing will stop you. You touch the page, it's as if you've drawn a knife across it, the page has been hurt now, a sinuous wound opens up, a thin incision. Darkness wells through.