haha i love them very much, especially boreal forests coz fewer mosquitoes and less humidity + the possibility of snow. they’re not frightening like the sea is. but i like forests that give you a weird feeling. not the kind that hints to u that horrifying deeds are committed there lol. i just love really immense non-human things that psychologically impose on me and remind me that i’m nothing. being something is a burden
hey zach. to be honest he’s not an artist whose work i’ve gone in-depth into, because while he was obviously a very gifted person and i respect his work, it’s not really my thing. i think that the paintings of his that i’ve seen have a very moving inner luminosity. they feel alive in a way that like, reaches out to you and this has as much to do with van gogh’s painterly mark (the “gesture”) as the palettes he used. sometimes when i look at his work i can sort of feel a great and silent wind moving through it, which is very nice
THANK YOU! Love me a willing audience walking into my bait. I’m just a little bit enamoured by the actually stunning OG bisexual disaster H.D.! See, obviously we do not have time to get into little Hilda who was so terrified of burning that she willed herself frozen and aloof, Hilda of “Hilda’s Book” by Ezra Pound fame (they dated, yeah, and Pound decided she should call herself H.D.), one of her first poems “Hermes of the Ways”, her relationship with Bryher, Bryher arranging her appointments with Freud (yeah, that Freud) to aid her in “unfreezing” and learning, or H.D. writing The Gift and Trilogy under the bombs in London during the war, among other things. So I’ll just ramble about her work.
H.D. creates her own mythologies, and she doesn’t stop to explain, doesn’t stop to care about any distinction between reality and her exquisite dreamscape. She’ll random drop something like, “That’s why everyone thought Kaspar was Abraham” and leave you turning pages and thinking, “Literally no one has ever thought that, Hilda, no one.” Which is exactly what I want in my poetry, of course. I just think her extreme economy with language is captivating. Towards the end of Trilogy, she talks about Kaspar’s regret and the jars of myrrh: “why didn’t I bring both? / or should I have chosen the other?” Reading it for the first time, I actually teared up. She juxtaposes this brief moment of regret with Kaspar being vulnerable to grief and the effect she achieves is just too overwhelming. I kept thinking, “But they’re such commonplace words.”
Her art demands imaginative work but when you bite into it, it is honest about her exploration of personhood and mythology and religion. Also, H.D.’s interpretation of Christianity is incisive and she fancies herself as a kind of interpreter, a continuum of an ancient tradition but that’s a conversation for another day.
P.S., if you google Yale archives pictures of HD, you’ll find one with her holding a locket and I’d just like to remark, in postscript, that she looked very very beautiful. And dramatic, that’s important.