- Kindred, by Octavia Butler
- The Clockmaker’s Daughter, by Kate Morton
- The Distant Hours, by Kate Morton
- I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou
Setting up a studio takes a lot of work and mental clarity, both of which have been unappealing. Instead, I have spent a lot of time since the New Year reading. Guilty pleasures, classics, stories I’ve sold and always wondered about. Here is my list so far:
- Outlander, by Diane Gabaldon
- Dragonfly in Amber, by Diane Gabaldon
- Voyager, by Diane Gabaldon
- Drums of Autumn, by Diane Gabaldon
- The Fiery Cross, by Diane Gabaldon
- A Breath of Snow and Ashes, by Diane Gabaldon
- An Echo in the Bone, by Diane Gabaldon
- The Great Alone, by Kristen Hannah
- The Things We Do For Love, by Kristen Hannah
- An American Marriage, by Tayari Jones
- Clock Dance, by Anne Tyler
- Silver Sparrow, by Tayari Jones
- The Underground Railroad, by Colson Whitehead
- The Color Purple, by Alice Walker
As someone who has only been able to listen to books-for-pleasure the last few years, the sitting and reading is intense, and my tendency to have my mind wander doesn’t ruin the story when I have to re-start the page. Not so with audiobooks or podcasts.
I’ve been concentrating most of my creative efforts lately on a curatorial project set to exhibit in the Fall, working with a huge collection of negatives Sonny Brown donated to the University of Southern Indiana before he died. Sonny Brown was a photojournalist in Evansville for decades, and the collection includes images from the late 1950s to the late 1990s. My focus was on the negatives, which were mostly uncut (meaning most are still in the original 3’ lengths). For those who have never shot film like a photojournalist or documentarian, a photographer has 1-3 cameras and shoots 2-20+ rolls of film, for each event. These uncut rolls are then grouped by event, meaning 2-20+ rolls in 3’ lengths, then rolled together into a tight little drum-shape, and wrapped in (non-archival) newsprint (on which is scribbled a description, a name, a date, or both, or neither!). Based on their condition, they were stored someplace less than ideal, like the attic or garage, for fifty years.
A few observations so far:
1. Making photographers
sleeve negatives and take notes about the rolls is an important part of
the archive process, and sloppy chemicals do catch up with you.
2. Negatives craze like ceramics. Little cracks all over the surface.
3. You can’t hide the things you like to look at on a roll of film.
None of that is as interesting as the subject matter, which I am still contemplating how to organize. Pouring over each roll, I feel like I’m traveling through history.
All for now.