Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Hungry Wolves are in the Way to the House with it's Infinite Blue Doors

I'm like a kid on Christmas! Literally. 23 years ago I received this dollhouse as a gift from Santa Claus. My uncle and father helped me dig it out of my parents garage and I've been tinkering with it since. My miniature collection has also emerged out of the cobwebs and all hell has broken loose in our apartment.

I am preparing these stills as brainstorming material for an upcoming Hallways video project. We are SO looking forward to working with mastermind Jesse Montini-Vose.

Check out some of his video work. It doesn't stop there....


© *Stephica

A Museum of Taxidermy Redwoods Found in Someone Else's Basement

If you had only known how our houses
had grown at least six feet per year.
Each argument producing
bark knots our mothers still
run the dry flesh of their palms over.
There were at least 10 of us then,
generations of our raucous laughter:
a reminder of ripples swelling in age-rings,
old growth hidden within the walls.

Now only ghosts lounge between the dusty pages,
Volumes of manuscripts drift in a sea of salmon pink,
bottomless teal and emerald green.
Layers of auburn, coffee, sepia
and chocolate, velvet in their richness
coat my insides like fire scars,
marking streams of subconscious trails.
Through these swirls and the charm of room travel
do I understand light and darkness.
Windows hide orbs of indigo skies,
moody and arduous in their tenure.
Miniatures encased in glass I stare and cannot
discern each independent of another,
their details too intricate and I am involved.

How can the rest of you not be familiar with these objects?
Within them the souls of our former selves
Walls hide poems of measurement,
lineages in the stacks and passageways

We hadn't known our stems were weakening,
our evolution arrested without warning.
Emaciated, only a few of us are left standing
And we've forgotten how to unite.