Lone to With
© 2025
Edition of unique artists book
Dimensions in inches (closed): 6.5 x 8.5 x 1.8
Materials
Book: Book: paper, museum board, laser toner, fusion foil, waxed linen thread, goat, metallic acrylic, hot foil
Box: book board, paper, polymer, mica, book cloth, suede, goat, laser toner, brass, hot foil
Six modified keystone shaped pages (including covers), joined with a stab-binding variation present a specific memory of a time and place that addresses sensations of detachment, disinterest and abandonment from a child's point of view, concluding with a recognition that the vast beauty of Colorado's eastern grasslands holds not only emptiness but the potential of comfort. A six-step word ladder from lone to with meanders through the pages. Imagery is primarily a digital reproduction of a pen and ink drawing of cornstalks made by the artist in the 1970's.
Housed in a full-leather drop-spine box with shaped tray lined with suede and brass peg closures. Goat & foil stamped label is recessed into box spine.
Full text:
My mom, frustrated by a life in the suburbs raising children she didn’t much care for, used to drive to the eastern plains of Colorado to work with a psychic named Cora Belle. It’s odd, I don’t remember what Cora Belle looked like, but I do remember her voice, low and gravelly; the voice of a lifelong smoker. I don’t know if I ever saw her other than standing at her back door; a solid, unyielding presence that made it clear I wasn’t welcome in her home. They would disappear into Cora Belle’s farmhouse for an afternoon, leaving me to entertain myself outdoors on the farm. A farm with a big barn where two massive, friendly, draft horses spent the afternoons swishing away flies and letting me stroke their soft cheeks. I was a horse crazy kid and those afternoons fueled my determination to have my own horse someday, which I did, but that is a story for another time. There were cats in the barn, too self-involved to pay much attention to me, and dogs in the yard I tried to play with. A lonely kid, I fantasized about having a loving and loyal dog at my side, but those dogs weren’t interested in keeping me company. I spent hours wandering through the cornfields, their tall greenness closing over my head. I loved the feeling of disappearing. More than once I wondered if my mom would drive off without me. More than once I worried that I was lost. Something else happened at Cora Belle’s. A memory of standing on a gentle land rise, the barn behind me, cornfields stretching as far as my eyes could see. The sun hot on my face, buzz of insects, occasional, animal sounds nearby. I felt an immense power and joy, feeling a thrill of anonymity and total lack of responsibility. I felt as though it was the world that would care for me, not my mother and certainly not the likes of Cora Belle.
Word ladder text:
lone - lore - wore - wire - wite - with
Lone to With
© 2025
Edition of unique artists book
Dimensions in inches (closed): 6.5 x 8.5 x 1.8
Materials
Book: Book: paper, museum board, laser toner, fusion foil, waxed linen thread, goat, metallic acrylic, hot foil
Box: book board, paper, polymer, mica, book cloth, suede, goat, laser toner, brass, hot foil
Six modified keystone shaped pages (including covers), joined with a stab-binding variation present a specific memory of a time and place that addresses sensations of detachment, disinterest and abandonment from a child's point of view, concluding with a recognition that the vast beauty of Colorado's eastern grasslands holds not only emptiness but the potential of comfort. A six-step word ladder from lone to with meanders through the pages. Imagery is primarily a digital reproduction of a pen and ink drawing of cornstalks made by the artist in the 1970's.
Housed in a full-leather drop-spine box with shaped tray lined with suede and brass peg closures. Goat & foil stamped label is recessed into box spine.
Full text:
My mom, frustrated by a life in the suburbs raising children she didn’t much care for, used to drive to the eastern plains of Colorado to work with a psychic named Cora Belle. It’s odd, I don’t remember what Cora Belle looked like, but I do remember her voice, low and gravelly; the voice of a lifelong smoker. I don’t know if I ever saw her other than standing at her back door; a solid, unyielding presence that made it clear I wasn’t welcome in her home. They would disappear into Cora Belle’s farmhouse for an afternoon, leaving me to entertain myself outdoors on the farm. A farm with a big barn where two massive, friendly, draft horses spent the afternoons swishing away flies and letting me stroke their soft cheeks. I was a horse crazy kid and those afternoons fueled my determination to have my own horse someday, which I did, but that is a story for another time. There were cats in the barn, too self-involved to pay much attention to me, and dogs in the yard I tried to play with. A lonely kid, I fantasized about having a loving and loyal dog at my side, but those dogs weren’t interested in keeping me company. I spent hours wandering through the cornfields, their tall greenness closing over my head. I loved the feeling of disappearing. More than once I wondered if my mom would drive off without me. More than once I worried that I was lost. Something else happened at Cora Belle’s. A memory of standing on a gentle land rise, the barn behind me, cornfields stretching as far as my eyes could see. The sun hot on my face, buzz of insects, occasional, animal sounds nearby. I felt an immense power and joy, feeling a thrill of anonymity and total lack of responsibility. I felt as though it was the world that would care for me, not my mother and certainly not the likes of Cora Belle.
Word ladder text:
lone - lore - wore - wire - wite - with
