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Now and then the road would flatten and I'd find a small space to call my own in an abandoned cabin or bear cave. There between blizzards I huddled in the dark with the dogs and sketched, then I carved feverishly. Tiny bits of rubber or linoleum covered the cold earth below. My neck would throb from the many hours of working by candlelight but I felt in me a great need to make permanent what I had seen, out there in the wilderness. And so I created a hundred twins for every motif in the hopes that at least one might survive me. These were hard times. Once finished, the prints would dry by fireside, each slowly curling inwards as they shone like lanterns. For years I carried the original cuts themselves inside the yellowed paper folds an old French "accordéon", until the day I found "the machine" that would once and for all ease me of this burden. << Back |
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