One consults this quicksilver analyst this parroting psychiatrist this counsellor whose Da Vincian observations, conclusions, notations are inverted on its walls.
One sees the impossible: flesh | mind | spirit & only will at hand to construct a harmony.
One reads a Rorschach world of ravages with each new day’s inscription engraved upon this wailing wall.
One sees the analyst reflect a target in his lidless omniscient stare.
Very early in her writing career it was obvious that Margaret Atwood didn’t write from any predisposition to themes even mildly mawkish. Nor were they romantic, sentimental, or nostalgic.
That, along with the titles of her early works, inclined me to think of her as an incomparably fearless and ruthless author with the truths of her tale-telling.
I made this drawing about 1980, quite before the printing of her ferocious “The Handmaid’s Tale”, and by which time she had gathered around her a clutch of early distinguished titles that would secure her place amongst Canadian and international authors.
My nuclear family.
A visual definition to trump visual definitions.
or: The Simple Geometry of Endearments.
Honoraria: Baez/Mitchell/Harris
Political satire. Rumour of Humour 4.
The way we feed off one another, the way organisms feed off each other is endlessly fascinating.
fillière 