Adding Levity (Hawthorne)- Shawn Demarest

Just looking at a post on Shawn Demarest’s blog, from Portland, OR. An old friend from Boulder that I haven’t seen in many years, and she’s still making paintings and prints, heading out on a bike with a trailer for plein-aire painting of her urban environs. If I recall events correctly, I’m remembering now that it was partly seeing Shawn’s prints and talking that made me want to dive into etching, which I eventually did, after many fruitful diversions (I first met Stan Brakhage because I couldn’t get into an etching class, and was then immediately immersed in cinema and much else. It took several years before I finally made my first etching.) Anyway, I like Shawn’s pictures, and her brief tales of spending days out looking at the world make me want to pack up some paints and get out there on these unseasonably balmy days we’re having in January.

When someone is sent to find the old man, all else has already failed. If he’s not out in the boat, he’s out walking, some way off the paths, in-turned, but aware of each sound and scent, and each combination. He’s always just wrapping up as you arrive, tucking bundles in his bag. What do you need then? Cordial, willing, he is, and not surprised to see you.

Some kind of Gene Wolfe parlor of tarnished escutcheons, faceless poise, and rotting velvet, with remnants of ruling families maintaining the procedures of dignity as any trace of distinction and inbred purpose fade. Ancestral identity becomes mere cashflow and costume. Vast, dim, cobwebbed atriums (atria?), occasional letters to sign, from estate lawyers. Biscuits and the sherry bottle. Cuddling with grandfather’s trophies and certificates.