Oct 13, 2024 3 min read a book of days

the every day // recent vignettes

a faint glow of the aurora australis (as seen recently from waiheke island, auckland, nz)

circular economy

a few years ago i donated my kinfolk magazine collection (every issue up to vol. 15) to a local coffee roastery & café. yesterday, when perusing the shelves laden with free books at the local resource recovery park (landfill), i discovered five of them nestled in amongst historical art auction catalogues and boating magazines. so, i tucked them into my backpack and carried them back home again. thumbing through a couple of them now, a few years after they were cleared out last time, i am drawn to words and images i don't recall noticing before...

Ground (95.6) 1995 Chromogenic print on panel; 20 x 17 inches (50.8 x 43.2 cm) by Uta Barth

... like the photographs of german artist uta barth (most especially the one pictured above), from vol. 14

... the aurora folklore section (also from vol. 14) that introduced me to the folktales from:

finland // the lights are caused by a bushy tail of an arctic fox swiping snow into the sky,
norway // the valkyries' armour and shields are reflecting the light as they travel to valhalla,
sweden // reflections of light off the scales of large shoals of fish in the sea,
denmark // swans, competing to see who could fly farthest north, are caught in ice and the flurry of their wings (as they try to escape) produces the waves of the borealis, and
the indigenous peoples of north america and greenland // the lights came from the spirits of the dead in the afterlife playing soccer with a walrus skull.

... the recipes for crispy ham and cornmeal waffles (hold the ham) and weekend lemon cake from vol. 9

… and wai hon chu’s dim sum diary + a dumpling recipe, i am going to try making, from vol. 10

shape shifting

there's very little in terms of permanent fixtures in our home. no built-in wardrobes, cupboards or shelves (aside from the small kitchen area). gathering places are rearranged to accommodate the shift in seasons and quantity of humans — chairs moved from bedroom, to studio, to living space, to the outdoors. sofa positioned to face the garden, the fire. stools at the dining table become side tables (indoors and out), or are used outdoors as extra seating when visitors appear. even the bedroom furniture is impermanently located — moved this way and that, winter to summer, focusing our attention towards a different view with our morning coffee. this optionality of morphing spaces to suit our current mood is something i have always preferred. a way to make our home a place that feels like its alive.

tender • by local artist, tracey sullivan

finding poetry

in the wind, brushing patterns across the ocean, perfectly in time with the music emerging quietly from a tiny speaker at our feet, in a sauna overlooking the sea
in a dispensary. what calming remedy would you go in looking for today?
locally. in tracey sullivan’s new, one-poem, book: tender
next on my reading list: wild honey