A quick run before it warms up later today. 80 degrees at 5. My legs felt heavy and sore and something doesn’t seem quite right with my new shoes. Nothing felt smooth. Hopefully, I’ll break in the shoes and it will be okay.
Even with the struggling, I’m glad (as always) that I went out for a run. A beautiful spring morning! Birdsong, bright sun mixed with cool breeze, green buds, shadows.
My favorite part about the run: the sun was coming from the east and creating sharp shadows of the fence on the sidewalk1. As I ran below on the winchell trail, the lines from the wrought iron fence were so distinct that I thought I was running on a boardwalk instead of a sidewalk. The lines reminded me of the stretch of wooden walkway near the Guthrie. It didn’t feel like a boardwalk, but my brain kept making me think that it was.
Other things noticed: the sound of water trickling out of the ravine at 42nd; a woman power walking in the street, swinging her arms with purpose; kids laughing and talking as they got dropped off for school; mostly empty benches, one or two occupied; the bells of St. Thomas; the rumble of construction work somewhere nearby; a steady stream of cars commuting to work.
from the library
Last week I requested the graphic poem, Her Read by Jennifer Sperry, and today I was able to pick it up! Scott and I did our usual routine: pick up a book at the library, head over to Arbeiter for a beer because it’s about a block away. This book looks really great. I”m excited to dig into it tomorrow!
As I was telling Scott about the slat shadows, I realized that it was less the direction of the sun and more the fact that there were no leaves blocking the fence. In the summer, when I usually run down on the Winchell trail, there are no shadows because of the thick leaves. ↩︎
4.2 miles shadow falls / monument and back 50 degrees
The earliest run I’ve done in some time. I started just after 8, which would have been a late run five years ago. I want to get back to early morning runs as it gets warmer. Even in 50 degrees, I was sweating. Is it the effort of hot flashes?
I decided to run through the neighbor hood, and past the Church daycare. The kids were outside already and having fun. It sounded like one kid was playing some sort of game where he was blasting his enemies as he ran near the perimeter of the fence — take that! pew pew pew! I admired the river as I ran over the lake street bridge. Blue, calm, inviting reflections. No rowers yet. At the Monument, I could hear Shadow Falls roaring, which only happens after rain, so I stepped off the trail and hiked for a closer look. A runner with a dog passed me at one point, both of them having no problems navigating the narrow and steep trail on the edge of the bluff — good morning! thank you! /hi! sure! I couldn’t see the falls falling but I heard the gentle rushing of water. In a flash, I thought of the poem I wrote last year, especially this part:
Deep in the autumn when rain rarely happens and nothing flows down off the ledge, listen for something other than water, listen for shadows instead.
Shadows of soldiers, Shadows of mothers, Shadows of paved-over creeks. Shadows that signal what else could be here now Shadows that dwell in-between.
Speaking of shadows, I saw mine, down in the ravine, beside me on the path, climbing a tree.
In addition to the runner and the dog, there was another hiker on the trail, and a few different pairs of fast runners near the hill that climbs out of the monument park. I heard the roar of a plane, then saw the flash of silver in the sky. Also heard cheeseburger cheeseburger — I think that’s a carolina wren? Yes! Looking it up, the results said it was a black capped chickadee, but I knew it wasn’t. I found the carolina wren when I remembered the other words people think this song sounds like: tea kettle tea kettle.
This run wasn’t easy — sore legs, unfinished business — but I’m glad I did it. I love being outside in the early-ish morning. Today it was 8, but I’d like to be up and out by 6:30 or 7 this summer.
With summer, and high humidity coming, here’s a poem to help me endure it:
What am I if not what happens when I try to run away?
Water falls out of me like an opinion. I’m like a screen door banging between two rivers.
Dear air, what’s inside me you’re so desperate to take?
I put on the Atlantic like a sweater. My head bobs on the surface of a lake I’m named after.
Where do I belong? My head asks. My body, exasperated, answers.
hike: 60 minutes minnehaha off leash dog park with FWA and Delia 63 degrees
Ahhh! A wonderful late morning for a hike. The green continues to creep up the trees. More exploding shadows of new buds. I only recall hearing one dog name: Liza. Liza, don’t you ambush that dog! That dog was Delia, and if there was any ambushing being done, it was by Delia to Liza and her human. Delia loves to get other dogs worked up, which the humans don’t see, or ignore. They assume because Delia is small and cute she is always the one being preyed upon. Ha! Another typical Delia dog encounter: a big talk playing fetch in the water. Delia thought it looked fun and wanted to join in. The big dog barked at her, which seem to translate to: back off! this is my game, and this is my stick!
Often as we’re walking, FWA and I talk about video games or the past or One Piece. Today we wer’re mostly quiet, except for my occasional commentary on this tree or that leaf. I was fine not talking; I liked having the chance to listen to all the different sounds: birds, footsteps, a nearby stream rushing or gushing or swirling in an eddy.
holes
Today, more cutting out black netting holes and layering and mapping them on the paper. For now, I’m pinning them, but I’m wondering if I could fasten them with a button through the center and then glue the word to the button? Would that work on paper? Only one way to find out — I just need more buttons and a needle!
Here’s one version of Holes 1. I wrote numbers directly on the page to indicate how to read it, but I’m not sure if I want to keep them. Also, I kept the cross-hatched hole and the pencil shaded one for now.
the numbered version
another note: the shape of the word is the shape of my working central vision. In theory, I like doing this, but I think the shape looks awkward. I’d prefer a circle instead.
the hole process island where reading still possible waits as large something that surrounds it grows
another note: I want to make the shade part around the hole process larger also: instead of individual numbers, I could number the 4 pages/panels and identify the location of the words in a small key
word island where reading still possible waits as large something that surrounds it grows
3.75 miles top of wabun, bottom of locks and dam no. 1 43 degrees
It felt warmer than 43 today. Today’s sign of spring: the shadows of budding leaves on the tree, looking like sparkler explosions on the sidewalk. I’ve written about these in past springs — was it last April or the April before? The sky was bright blue, the water was scaled with waves. Encountered bikers and runners and walkers. No surreys yet or roller skiers. No songs blasting from radios. No soaring birds or bird shadows or birdsong. Some flashes of green, several occupied benches. I started to recite Philip Larkin’s “The Trees” — The trees are coming into leaf/Like something almost being said/Their recent buds relax and spread/Their greenness is a kind of griefi.
For the first half I listened to everything around me, for the second half: my “Windows” playlist. Demi Lovato’s anthem, “Skyscraper” came on and even though it is cheesy and overwrought, I started running faster to it and felt something deep opening. Cathartic. If it hadn’t been so crowded I might have started crying, which would have been a great release. Even without the tears, it felt good to run fast and feel free/d.
Right before my run, RJP cameo ver to tell us all about her success with the fashion show at St. Kate’s. She didn’t have any garments in it, but she served on a committee for it and helped set it up. It’s hard to put into words how big of a victory this was/is for RJP.
a quick note about Robert Macfarlane and the river:As I washed the incredible amount of dishes that had accumulated — almost ALL of them! — I finished listening to the Between the Covers episode from last year with Robert Macfarlane.side note: when did Between the Covers switch from Tinhouse to Milkweed?And does that mean I need to go through and fix my past links to episodes? Probably. Future Sara (does Sara sent somewhere work as a name?) get on that! What a gift! I’m currently waiting for the audiobook of What is a River? I checked it (or the ebook version) on 10 august but didn’t listen to it. I must have been busy doing my swimming one day in august challenge. Or maybe I wasn’t ready to hear the words. I am now. Currently the waiting time is “several months” and I am 54th in line. I hope it comes in time for summer. This is a perfect water book for my water season! Maybe if it doesn’t come in time, I’ll buy it as an early bday present? I just checked on Moon Palace and the paperback is coming out on June 9th! I’ll have to preorder it. I could spend the rest of the afternoon writing about the interview, but I’ll leave that for when I start reading — either with my eyes or ears — the book in June,
holes
I didn’t have much time this afternoon, but I started experimenting with 2 ways to cover my blind spot template on the page. First, I created a cross-hatch pattern on one of them with a ruler and pencil. Second, I used a ziploc plastic bag. Because the bag was clear, I distressed it by drawing a spiral repeatedly using a pencil. I like the effect.
1 — cross-hatched hole2 — ziploc bag
Experiments to try tomorrow: a plastic bag (grocery store), black netting, static dots, dark pencil erased.
5.25 miles franklin loop 63 degrees / drizzle humidty: 85%
I beat the storm! Yes, there was drizzle, but no strong wind or thunder, so I’ll take the victory. Today I felt strong and relaxed and capable. Not anxious or overwhelmed. Today I also feel vulnerable and open to the world, ready to embrace any slight shifts in perspective.
Image of the Day: Running north on the east bank, looking down at the river: a sea of bright, fresh green. On this side of the gorge, between lake and franklin, there used to be a park down below, so there’s wide stretches of cleared land and open grass. Even knowing that, the green looked like water not grass to me, high up on the bluff.
Realization of the day: Returning to the west bank, running south, admiring the straight-ish ridge line across the gorge and wondering how it could be almost uniform, I realized something: this ridge line was made by humans — leveled after logging and road and residence building. What did it look like before settler colonists arrived?
on training for the marathon: Today I ran 9, walked 1. After crossing over Franklin, I did a 5 minute walk to get my heart rate below 170. Then another 9/1. After this last one I checked how long it took to get my heart rate down to 135: 2 minutes. A goal for future Sara: cut that time in half, or even more.
10 Things
flashes of white flowers on the edge of the bluff: the spring ephemerals!
little kid voices, laughing, somewhere deep in the gorge
a guy yelling near a car parked across the parkwy on seabury — was it “fun” yelling as he played with a kid, or “unhinged” yelling at someone?
chickadeedeedee
a verbal greeting with a walker: good moring! / good morring!
honking geese, a honking car horm
a grayish-brownish-blue river, empty
bright LED headlights, cutting through the thick gray air
slashes of bright green are beginning to appear in the floodplain forest!
several stones stacked on the ancient boulder
grids and strings and threads (oh my)
It’s a few hours after I returned from my run and it’s hailed twice and thundered and dropped 15 degrees since then. Boo. I tried a new thing with Holes 3: drew a graph directly on the words, mapped the words on the xy axis, lightly shaded in the words, repinned the grid over that, and then used thread to finish it. I like the doubling, almost out of focus feeling that the pencil grid and the string grid create. I don’t think the words are clear enough yet. I’ll have to keep working on that.
double griddouble grid, a slightly closer look (find fall and almost)
Here’s something else I tried: encasing the words in circles (using a penny) then roughly erasing the circles:
ghost hole effect
Another thought: map the words on a grid, then color in the rest of the grid box around the word or phrase from the poem. How would that look?Maybe I’ll try it on a smaller scale?
Sun and shadows and spring air. Also: chirping birds, bare earth, buds. A beautiful afternoon for a run, after a morning having fun making a grid and reading an essay backwards and thinking about threads and strings and scotomas.
The river was a blueish-gray, the sky was empty of clouds. Now, sitting at my dining room table, I hear cardinals, but out near the gorge I think it was wrens, or could it have been sparrows? Oh — at least one pileated woodpecker and the feebee of a chickadee.
tmi note for marathon-training Sara: the run was made difficult by unfinished business. I need to do more work on figuring this problem out!
My favorite image: Walking and running back through the neighborhood, I noticed (and not for the first time) a delightful maple tree. A straight and solid trunk then 2 thick branches rising out of it. One of them slanted only slightly to the side, the other bent midway up, looking almost like a knee. Yes! This tree offers a classic example of the tree looking like an upside down person, their head, shoulders buried in the dirt, only their torso and crotch and legs sticking out of the ground. Oh, why didn’t I bring my phone today so I could take a picture of it?! I’ll have to go back. It’s on 35th street between 46th and 45th avenue. I wonder, will anyone else be able to see what I see in a picture of it? when standing beside the tree?
grids and lines and strings and threads
note: I’m starting this in the morning just after a big breakfast. I’m listening to early The Kinks, “Arthur or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire” from 1969 and “The Kinks Are teh Cillage Green Preservation Society” from 1968. I love early The Kinks!
Continuing a discussion I began yesterday but wasn’t able to continue:
I found this quote from Chuck Close about why he used the grid method:
Almost every decision I’ve made as an artist is an outcome of my particular learning disorders. I’m overwhelmed by the whole. How do you make a big head? How do you make a nose? I’m not sure! But by breaking the image down into small units, I make each decision into a bite-size decision. I don’t have to reinvent the wheel every day. It’s an on- going process. The system liberates and allows for intuition.
Breaking the image down into small units. Working in small units and seeing fine detail — those are functions of central vision. Peripheral vision is the big picture, that big head, those whole noses. Most of what I see these days is big picture — whole, fuzzy forms. The central vision I have is very small and seems to be very near the center of my central vision. How big is the one grid — that tiny island surrounded by gray water — that allows me to see anything as more than an almost form? The only detail I can really see (I think?) is a word in small print.
Just gave about an hour to creating the grid for the bigger version of my scotoma. In the “normal” sized one, each grid is .25 x .25. In this grid, it’s .8 x .8. I’m listening to a 1970 album by The Kinks, “Lola Versus Poerman and the Moneygoround, Part One.”
The grid is fiddly and involves a lot of measuring. It is slow, repetitive work. As I measured and drew line after line, I thought about how this work might open me up to new ideas and that this process by me, Sara-barely-not-blind, is part of the work I am creating. It is not only the finished product of a visual poem, but all of the labor that went into it that makes the meaning. Much of that work is invisible (although I’m documenting it), but it colors and haunts and shapes what I am trying to communicate.
2 grids and a blind spot
Now, it’s time to use the grid to create a super-sized scotoma, and then, to play around with different materials for laying the scotoma over the words of Holes 5b! Possible materials: trace the scotoma directly onto the paper and then color it in. Cut out different types of plastic — ziploc? a grocery bag? cling wrap? What about a very, very small grid made out of black thread? Fiddly, but fun!
Before I return to that, I need a break, so I’ll return to my close reading of a book review on memoirs by daughters about their fraught relationships with their mothers. I picked this selection from the NYer because: it’s a book review, and I love book reviews!; it uses a lot of language about connections and separations; and it uses hole, thread, and line.
My close reading = start with the last paragraph of the essay, then the second to last, then the third to last, etc. So, backwards. It’s a strange way of reading, being thrown into ideas that are presented as familiar, but haven’t been introduced yet. Slowly, the more I read, the more sense it makes.
Misfits / The Kinks (1978)
I started my close reading of the NYer book review, What to Make of the Mother Who Made You/Rebecca Mead, yesterday afternoon while drinking a surprisingly good NA beer at Arbeiter. Here’s a list of words/phrases I found during that reading, along with my additional words from today’s reading:
when the facts are unbearable, it’s natural to escape into
coordinates
accomodate
(to) make sense to myself
disorientation
knowledge
ghost
humbled
should be
to write one’s way out of
shedding
knotted
threads
familiar
searching
hunt it down like prey
in the other room
readers
almost blind
estranged
against
reframing
obedience
en chant ment
elsewhere
world made whole again
inheritances
family
moves
opens
traces
artificially formed
origins
sober
square
closed
door
discomfort
feelings
slither
seize d
character
disembowel eat
spotted
rupture
alone
defiance
entanglements
kinship
matriarch
loom
shadows and absences
ordinariness tempo
lens
locating
mess ily
tending
cancer
seen
naked
con found ing
pro CLAIM
think about
offspring
runs through
nothing, subdued
account
assumes command
between
emerge
maintain ed distance
light
center
entwined
depend
reckon
Again, these words speak to a strained relationship between daughter and mother. I’m thinking that my mother here is written language and the words on a page to be read with failing/failed eyes. A distant mother, a daughter uncertain as to how to reconnect (or to keep the connection), or even if she wants to stay connected.
In the midst of all of this, I’m also wanting to get more inspiration from a collection of erasure poems that I discovered last fall and have been hugely influenced by: a wonderful catastrophe / Colette Love Hilliard. Here’s one of her found poems that uses lines:
a poem from a wonderful catastrophe/ colette love hilliard
I like how the lines are slanted and all coming out of one source which resembles the sun. I might try having lines of black thread emerging from a center hole in a 4 panel poem. The threads just barely covering all of the words, the words of the poem printed on circles attached (pinned?, sewn?) on top of the strings. I want to try that now! Can I do that AND make my super-sized scotoma?
a few minutes later: I will do the scotoma tomorrow; the sun is too bright in the room for me to see the grid! And, before I can try out the black threads, I need to remap Holes 4. So, tomorrow for both of these.
RJP just stopped by and when I showed her what I was working on, she reminded me about Coraline and her other mother who lives on the other side of the door (here, instead of Alice’s hole, there is Coraline’s door). The other mother has buttons for eyes which reminded RJP of the holes I traced on my Holes 5. So cool! I could try adding buttons to my Holes 6, which is using a text about mothers and daughters!
summary of the day: A lot of great ideas, a few plans, a little making.
David Bowie Essentials — the last song heard, “Suffragette City”
3.75 miles wabun hill 60 degrees wind: 25 mph gusts
Windy and warm this afternoon. Shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. Hooray! My feet feel strange in my new shoes. Hopefully I’ll get used to them soon. Sometimes it felt easy, sometimes it didn’t. I stopped several times to admire the view. There is new, brightly colored graffiti under the ford bridge. I noticed it when I stopped to look at the hill of dirt (some of it looks like loose dirt to me — is it?) that the pilings for the bridge push up against.
The favorite thing I experienced this afternoon: At the bottom of the hill near the locks and dam no. 1, I stopped to admire the river. The surface was undulating in the wind. It was only slightly moving, creating a strange feeling — not of dizziness, but of everything shimmering or flickering.
holes 5b
Here’s a draft of another poem made from words in “Mystery Man”:
two holes one — the only place where reading is still possible a small island surround by the other and its not even firelit free fall into nothing
I’d like to make the New Yorker text for this poem white on a black background. Is that possible? Can I achieve the effect of being in the dark in some other way? Maybe I’ll try shading text with pencil first? I’m still not sure. I’ll need to look for some more inspiration.
an hour or so later: Here’s something I’d like to try tomorrow that I thought of earlier — for my 2 holes poem I want to trace my scotoma/blind spoi on the 4 panels. I want one that covers a substantial amount of the text/pages. I’m thinking a 16 x 16 inch grid, which I already have. I’m not thinking that I’ll use the grid on the poem, but I’ll use it to measure the proportions of the bigger scotoma. Fun! I’m sure there are much more efficient ways to do what I’m trying to do, but I like the DIY nature of this approach. I also like how it’s not overwhelming for me, with my very limited crafting/making skills. If I spend too much time on crafting something that is trying to look polished and fancy, I might lose all of my creative energy. I should find a class to take in which I can learn some of these skills!
4.1 miles river road, north/south 39 degrees wind: 10mph / gusts: 15 mph
Boo to the cold, although it only really felt cold during my walk warm-up. Maybe the boo should be reserved for the wind which was directly in my face running south. But, even with the wind and the cold, there was sun and clear paths and birds and open water. Spring! My legs and back felt strong, and my feet were locked into a steady rhythm. I encountered at least one large-ish group of runners, many groups of walkers, dogs. No roller skiers. Any bikers? I can’t remember. At least one stroller.
Running north, I listened to my feet striking the ground and birds chirping. Running south, I put in my “I’m Shadowing You” playlist. Song I remember most: “Shadow Stabbing” by Cake.
My anxiety has returned, which is a bummer, but not unexpected. There are so many reasons it could be back (I mean, looking at the news for today — Drump’s deadline for Iran is tonight — JFC). My latest theory: I am experiencing another vision shift (more cones lost?) that sometimes makes me feel dizzy. Dizziness triggers (mostly) mild physical panic. Combine that with hormonal changes, thanks to perimenopause. Nothing too overwhelming, but still draining and uncomfortable. I understand the anxiety better now than a few years ago, but that doesn’t mean I can anticipate it. Before my run, I felt a little dizzy. That dizziness (or imagined dizziness?) lingered a little during the run then returned right after. Sigh.
added later in the day: Finishing this entry up at my desk, I saw the shadow of a bird fly by which reminded me of the bird shadows this morning as I ran. It happened more than once, a dark something flying over my head as I ran: a bird’s shadow!
grids and holes and reading
My Holes series has several elements: the hole, the grid, reading. All of them are important in these visual poems. Also important: these are visual poems. The words in them matter as much (or more? or on the same level?) as the visuals.
What am I trying to express with this series? The strange and strained and magical way in which I can still read words even with most of my central vision gone. The progression of my declining ability to see words and its untethering effects.
a couple hours later: Playing around with my first Holes, this morning, I focused on figuring out how to connect the sections of the poem, to map the path from word to word to word on the page. That process of reading is key to this series1. After ruminating, which frequently meant standing and staring at the poem on cardboard, trying to figure out how to make this rectangular 4-panel poem fit into the square of an Amsler Grid, I came up with something to try. Fasten the poem panels to cardboard by placing pins next to the words of the poem, then connect/map the words with black thread. When I tried that, the thread was more fiddly to work with than my eyes and hands liked, and it didn’t show up that well:
black thread map / Can you see the thread? Just barely, for me.
So I tried dark gray thread, which was easier to work with and showed up much better. Maybe as the series progresses and my tether to the world through words weakens, I’ll use thinner, less visible thread?
gray yarn
One thing to fix for a different version: adjust the pin so that the thread line between with and word doesn’t cross the center — to do this, possibly switch to another “the” lower on the panel.
I like the yarn better! I realized that one of the key elements of this poem is to show the process of reading, the act of jumping from word to word to word, how the connections between words are increasingly complicated and convoluted. As I was thinking about that mapping, I remembered some images that I’ve seen several times and that Scott mentioned the other day: a spider’s web after taking various drugs . Here, lines = grids = webs!
The next experiment = putting the 4 paneled poem on cork board, using gray yarn and push pins. Another thing to add: draw more holes (circles), color them in with pencil, then erase them to leave a ghost (afterimage-ish).
during the run: holes
During the run, I thought about printing the New Yorker article on graph paper and adding an x and y axis for plotting the words. I might do that for a few of the Holes — as my vision gets stranger, so do the names of x and y. Maybe Holes 1 is x = time and y = space. Another Holes could be x = real and y = imagined. I should look through the other poems and determine their x and y axis.
questions: Are the lines from the Amsler grid (that is, the lines that make up the grid) and the lines that connect the words and map them on the visual poem the same? Can they sometimes be the same in one poem, and different in another? (note from 16 april: I’m not sure what I mean here with the same and different lines.)
A thought as I wrote this sentence: part of the process of moving from word to word is running into words on a line that I didn’t see. In my Plague Notebook, I have countless examples of visual errors in which I write words on top of each other. This works differently in reading — in reading, I only see the word I am reading — but it connects. This not seeing + words on top of each other could be represented by the increasing jumbled way my lines from word to word are mapped. ↩︎
4.35 miles minnehaha falls and back 32 degrees / feels like 17
Cold again. Because of the low feels like temp, I overdressed: 2 pairs of tights, long-sleeved shirt, sweatshirt, pullover. Halfway through I ditched the pullover, which was awkward as I struggled to take it off without removing the outer layer.
Tried to stay steady and slow. Chanted in triple berries in my head. Took several walk breaks — not because I was tired, but to take pictures or to record my thoughts or to take off my second layer.
Thought about grids and nets (more on this below) as I ran. Recorded some thoughts on my phone:
recording 1: I’m thinking about grids and the lines and why it matters to me. And I’m thinking about the xy axis and a map and the visual field. And mapping and locating yourself within the known world and how reading is so important to that locating and figuring out how to navigate without that.
recording 2: Thinking more about why nets or grids or that particular way of being located is to be held, to be connected, to be located, to be seen or recognized or have others aware (of you). So not in this free fall. To orient yourself in some way. To not be entirely unmoored. Because as fun as it sounds in theory to be untethered and unlimited by these restrictions, physically it does not feel good. Dizzy, disoriented, nauseated (sometimes). A slow, growing anxiety.
This last bit about the ill effects of being unmoored was inspired by how I felt as I started my run. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but I did feel a little dizzy and disconnected from the path, unable to clearly see what was ahead of me. I wasn’t blind to the trail or anyone on it. I was disoriented and anything I saw was vague and barely formed. This way of seeing unsettled me; it also made everything feel dreamy and not real or unreal or surreal. By the end of the first mile, it had dissipated somewhat.
So, why the Amsler grid? First, the obvious: it’s a vision test and I am writing around (and through) vision tests in much of my vision/visual poetry. Another explanation: it represents a mapping, a locating, a connecting to the known world (where known partly = “normal”/medical understandings and models of seeing). Also, it is a reference point from and a starting point that readers can understand (a place of common ground, a concrete and easily expressed and understandable model and map for blind spots in central vision/visual field).
grids / nets
I was planning to study worms and bugs for my April challenge, but that will have to wait. This month is about grids and nets and matrices. I chose this topic because I want to dig deeper into the grid and what role it plays in my Holes series, and also because of a series of pieces that AMP pointed out to me at MIA (Minneapolis Institute of Arts):
Charles Gaines / Numbers and Trees
I found a book from one of his exhibits and requested it from the local library. When I get it, I’ll discuss the grids more. (I also plan to return to MIA soon to study the pieces more closely). Here’s one photo of them that I particularly like of me, FWA, and RJP, who is talking with her hands in a way that I love.
3 people looking at art, 2 of them talking about it, one with her hands
. Heading out for my run this morning, I wanted to notice grids. A few minutes later, all I could think about was the twisted/bent fence at the falls that I noticed last Thursday. I regretted not stopping to take a picture of it then, so I took several today. Here are 2:
1
Remembering this crooked fence and then taking pictures of it, inspired me to expand my grid/net/matrix month to fences too — this fence + chainlink fences. Things that contain, orient, map, frame.
To start this grid exploration, some research on the Amsler Grid. Have I done any research about it in past years? Not that I can find!
Amsler Grid
The Amsler grid, used since 1945, is a grid of horizontal and vertical lines used to monitor a person’s central visual field. The grid was developed by Marc Amsler, a Swiss ophthalmologist. It is a diagnostic tool that aids in the detection of visual disturbances caused by changes in the retina, particularly the macula (e.g. macular degeneration, Epiretinal membrane), as well as the optic nerve and the visual pathway to the brain. An Amsler grid can show defects in the central 20 degrees of the visual field.
In the test, the person looks with each eye separately at the small dot in the center of the grid. Patients with macular disease may see wavy lines or some lines may be missing. . . .
Although originally intended for use in clinical settings, the Amsler grid has proven highly adaptable for home monitoring. Its portability and ease of use enable patients to participate actively in the management of their ocular health, allowing earlier detection of disease progression and more timely medical intervention.
This idea of it being for use at home connects to my desire to use whatever materials and words I can find around me for this Holes series. There’s more there, I think.
I’d like to spend a few minutes (maybe later today or tomorrow morning) writing more about lines and grids and mapping and why it’s important to me, both in this series and in my understanding/description of my vision loss.
While looking for more on Amsler and the grid, I found out about Edward Munch and his vision loss at 60. As he was experiencing it, he drew a series of sketches/paintings, some with grid lines, some annotating the strange ways he saw. Very cool. Here’s more about it from a exhibit at the Tate. Is there a book for the exhibit and could it be at my local library? Yes! I just requested it.
4.45 miles minnehaha falls and back 35 degrees / steady drizzle
The forecast, rain all day, but when I looked out my window it didn’t seem too bad. No ice, above freezing, so I decided to go for a run, which was an excellent decision. I was bundled up and barely felt the rain — well, I guess I felt my soaked socks and cold legs (through my running tights), but I didn’t care. It was wonderful to be outside, mostly alone, only a few other walkers and runners joining me.
Because of the rain, I was wearing an old pair of Saucony’s (3 or more years old?) and didn’t run too fast. That helped me stay relaxed and able to keep going for longer. Maybe I should train some more in these shoes and save my new ones for faster runs, races, and until I’m trained up to run longer?Everything was wet. My favorite wet thing was the slick mirror Godfrey Boulevard made from the rain and new asphalt. Very cool! I saw my running self, trees, and sky and I thought about the upside down world where they all lived.
10 Things
the creek water falling fast over the limestone ledge on the bridge at the top of the falls
the deep puddle I stepped in that I thought was only a reflection of light on the trail
drip drip drip of water off the brim of my cap
taking off my hood, folding the flaps of my hat, and hearing the steady patter of rain
in through the nose 2 3 / out through the mouth 2 — 123/12
a steady, almost invisible rain with the occasional big drop — plain rain or freezing rain?
the lid of the toilet in the porta potty was wedged behind a bar and couldn’t be closed
empty benches / mostly empty parking lots
bright headlights cutting through the trees on the other side of the ravine
running by the Horace Cleveland Overlook parking lot and seeing an animal care truck (another name for animal control?) — is there a wolf or a coyote or a bear in the gorge — it’s always possible; they’ve all been spotted before
worms after the rain
It’s raining now, but sometime later today or tomorrow or the next day, it will stop and the worms will appear on the sidewalk. Here’s a poem I found about those worms:
You know how, after it rains, my father told me one August afternoon when I struggled with something hurtful my best friend had said, how worms come out and crawl all over the sidewalk and it stays a big mess a long time after it’s over if you step on them?
Leave them alone, he went on to say, after clearing his throat, and when the rain stops, they crawl back into the ground.
4 miles river road, south/wabun/bottom of locks/river road, north 38 degrees / feels like 22 wind: 15 mph / gusts: 32 mph
Another windy run. Cold-ish, too. Wore running tights, shorts, 2 long-sleeved shirts, a pull-over, a hat, a hood, gloves. I didn’t feel overheated until the end. Lots of cars on the road, not that many people on the trail. Are they all going to the No Kings March at the capitol? I (kind of) wanted to go, but big crowds are not the easiest for me and Scott, RJP, and FWA struggle in them too, so I’m skipping it.
According to my watch, I slept for 7 hours and 21 minutes last night. That is a lot for me! And, my sleep score1 was 77. I think it helped me to feel stronger on the run.
10 Things
reaching the top of the wabun hill, I heard the clanging of the bell — is there a bell up here? no — it was a kid banging on something at the playground
wild turkeys — 4 or 5 of them, under the ford bridge! I passed close by them as I ran up the wabun hill. By the time I return back down the hill, they were gone
goose honks near the bottom of the locks and dam no. 1
swirling leaves
the round shadow of the light on the street lamp
more scales on the gray water
chanting in triple berries to keep a steady pace
running on the rim of the bluff, looking down at the winchell trail which was empty and farther down than I usually remember
at the top of the wabun hill, stopping to look through the chain link fence at the river
a boot, stuck on a stalk on the boulevard of matt the cat’s house
serve and a boot / the pink sign near the far house says, “someone was abducted by ICE here.”
The abduction by ICE happened early on, between the murders of Renee Good and Alex Pretti. Two people were pulled from their car and taken; the car was left by the side of the road.
In addition to this boot picture, I also took some pictures of the view through the chainlink fence.
1234
I like this series of pictures. It reminds me a little of how I see. I can see better through my peripheral vision than my central — even when and if I don’t want to. It’s distracting to focus on the edge details sometimes, and it makes what’s in the center look even fuzzier to me. In thinking about my Holes series, does this happen at all when I’m reading? Is there a way to connect this fence with the lines in an Amsler Grid? An idea: what if I drew a giant Amsler Grid over the top of the entire, 4 panel, Holes 1 poem?
What does the sleep score mean? I’m less interested in the specifics of it at this point, and more interested in tracking which direction that number is headed. 77, which is only “OK” according to Apple health info, is the highest number I’ve had in the past almost 2 weeks. A goal by May: a number in the 80s. ↩︎
