Progress on our Month of Sundays Project

Our project was simple: both of us sit in front of the same window every Sunday. One would describe in pictures; the other, poetry. The aim: to capture through shared art practice what the anecdote presents as an exaggerated condition of time. At session number thirty or so, we knew the experience had already been successful.

Here are some of the latest images (podcasts, videos, and other media on the project available throughout our blog).

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These squares represent the passage, roughly, from fall to winter, or late October to November. Each page of the sketch pad is window-eye’s view of a calendar month, four Sundays.

Above, is a draft—only a snippet of Sara’s prodigious writing output during a single Sunday session. Each session runs about two hours long, by the way, and by the end of a typical stint, Sara goes through several pages of drafting.

Nov 18 soft pastels

Nov 18 soft pastels

another poem draft from a Sunday session by Sara

another poem draft from a Sunday session by Sara

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from Sep 30 to Oct 21… A week? of Sundays

from Sep 30 to Oct 21… A week? of Sundays

the view that inspires it all. Sara’s “Through One Pane” appears as well.

the view that inspires it all. Sara’s “Through One Pane” appears as well.

This view took up the hour or two of a vivid November Sunday.

This view took up the hour or two of a vivid November Sunday.

We give thanks this holiday season for the gifts of togetherness and time, which this project both reflects and honors in our lives.

Progress on our Fallmanac

We’re hard at work on multiple almanacs. There’s about four Almanac sized works in our Month of Sundays project, compiling the collaborative art we’ve made while sitting next to each other and overlooking a single view every Sunday.

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There’s an entire Almanac we are making of flower tiles. We call it the Floramanac.

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We are also looking to make an entire piece out of birch bark. Stay tuned for that as well.

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In the meantime, we are working on a piece that reflects on our experience of this autumn. We aimed for it to imitate the verbal capacities of Almanac #3.

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As with this one, we wanted our Fallmanac to be seen as a poster from across the room, with mainly lettering being visible, but also to be viewable from a closer vantage as an intricate interweaving of words, images, and collage—neither a poem nor a painting.

an early arrangement of gridded letters in our Fallmanac

an early arrangement of gridded letters in our Fallmanac

Here’s our latest version of the Fallmanac with views of letters like leaves, falling into and out of color.

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Month of Sundays -- An Art and Life Project for Two

We have been working on a project lately combining art and ordinary living. These are the best kinds of art projects, after all—we especially enjoy the act of recording the world as we live in it through art.

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This project is based on a cliche you’ve heard before.

How long will it take?

If quite a long while, as the saying goes, it might take a “month of Sundays.”

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But what does the phrase mean? Sunday, considered holy and also a bit slowly (at least in comparison with busier days of the week) is a day that gathers its own time rhythms to it. Sunday has a different time to it than other days, a different temporality. That’s just one Sunday. Just think of the stretched out time for reflection, sacred contemplation, and just laying around that a whole month of them would hold.

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The premise: Interrupt our usual ways of spending uncollected time together by creating a ritual around a picture window in our living room. Every Sunday we would sit at the window together. One would sketch the view in poetry as the other did so in pencils, and together we would produce a fuller picture of the shared time spent between us.

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Our Month of Sundays project is as much an effort to “keep” our time together as it is an effort to make time. In every view and in every poem, we make together in order to draw attention to the life and time we make together.

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Sessions usually take a little over an hour. At first, we would have to squeeze in the time to sit together on the same bench inside our home (the same bench that once served as our daughter’s toy box) to watch a concrete bench outside of our home as it resolutely weathered the seasons. After a while, though, our Month of Sundays ritual became an anticipated event. You don’t need to “schedule” or “plan for” something you’re looking forward to all week.

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Whereas Michael aimed to produce a single image for every session, filling a quarter page of the sketchbook each Sunday, Sara’s drafts of poetry spill across many pages.

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A simple lesson learned—when you make a single day special through shared practices of being together while observing the extraordinary in the ordinary, you acquire a deepened sense of the significance of each passing moment.

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This specific portion of the project is nearing a point of closure, but only in the conventional sense of there being only thirty or so days in a month. Our practice has changed our thinking about time. We no longer define a day or a month in terms of their limits or endings.

We plan on continuing our works of days and months, looking and seeing together through apertures we choose.

Almanc #2 Details Featured in TYPO Magazine

Michael and I were delighted to have some of our details from Almanac #2 featured in TYPO's 29th issue this week. And we're so very proud to be listed as co-creators with so many accomplished writers!

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We created Almanac #2 in December, so many of the images and poems have a distinctively festive spirit.

Below, you'll see a poem about the oldest tree in the world, written in the shape of a Christmas tree cookie. Next to it, a collage orchestrates an ensemble of old newspaper and wrapping paper to sing a carol about broken ornaments.

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Perhaps our favorite is this tribute to our daughter and her love of jellicle cats.

On the left, you see Michael's painting of her in full jellicle costume, and on the right, Sara's remix of T.S. Eliot's "The Naming Of Cats." Altogether, it is a girl power anthem!

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Almanac #2 is a window into our winter memories.

We are  thrilled

to share these views with TYPO's readers and you.

Blue of the Sky

The snow this morning made the deep blue of the sky stand out.

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The backyard exploded with the memories of deep winter, strangely cast against sunshine typical for spring.

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A variety of cloud shapes and layers helps to deepen the quality of the blue. The world's most amazing dog companion doesn't hurt either. The dog is off in the distance, by the way, in the shot above, scouting for soft light and booming contrasts.

The snow bends this pine bough, but only temporarily. This shot was taken at around 8 AM. By noon, this snow will melt under the weight of the sun.

The snow bends this pine bough, but only temporarily. This shot was taken at around 8 AM. By noon, this snow will melt under the weight of the sun.

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Our favorite poets prodded us to remember their best lines in the presence of these skies.

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The distant proximity of the hills of New Hampshire, as glimpsed from the top of Gillette Hill, (Wilder, in Hartford, Vermont.) The magnetic background nearly overpowers the chalky blue hills perched along the horizon.

There were two paths: one went up, the other left, but it was this one that drew her nose.

There were two paths: one went up, the other left, but it was this one that drew her nose.