Tuesday, 17 January 2012
Twelve Songs - body stitched
I've tried to make the words larger the closer they are to the viewer and more spaced out, and those further away have been made smaller and closer together. I hope this will help with the perspective. It also helps a bit if you can follow the body's curves.
Note to self: You need to concentrate when stitching text, and not drift off into the ether thinking of other things. (I inadvertently wrote "Put crepe BANDAGES round the white necks of the public doves instead of crepe BOWS. Idiot that I am!!) Still, it was quite funny apart from the unpicking.
In case you don't know the poem, it is:
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun'
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.