I think all the world is falling and No longer six feet under

Gracia Haby & Louise Jennison, I think all the world is falling, 2017, artists' book

Gracia Haby & Louise Jennison, No longer six feet under, 2017, artists' book

 

Gracia Haby & Louise Jennison
I think all the world is falling
and
No longer six feet under
2017
8 page concertina artists' book, inkjet print on Hahnemühle Photo Rag 308gsm, with covers mounted on gold-trimmed board, housed in a printed slipcase on 225gsm Buffalo board
Printed by Arten (covers, pages)
Printed by Bambra Press (slipcase)
(Each an) edition of 6, with an artists' proof

 
 

A pair of artists' books released into the wild from our stall at the 2017 NGV Melbourne Art Book Fair in the Great Hall.

These two artists' books will also form a part of our show, Looped, in the La Trobe Reading Room at State Library Victoria in early August, 2017. They are from a series of five independent yet related artists' books, which together weave a tale.

In addition, this pair, I think all the world is falling and No longer six feet under, have been shortlisted for the 2017 Geelong acquisitive print awards, at Geelong Gallery, 2017.

I think all the world is falling has been shortlisted for the 2017 Fremantle Arts Centre Fremantle Print Award. It will be exhibited at Fremantle Arts Centre, W.A., from the 21st of September, 2017.

I think all the world is falling

"I think all the world is falling" (Kylling Kluk, Just Mathias Thiele, 1823)    

Where there was earth, there was sky. And soil and toil was where the sky was. Topsy turvy. Switched around. In the blink of an eye.

Where there was water, there also was earth. And instead of the sound of birds calling, there was the white noise hum of standby power. It was familiar. Yet it was out of sorts. It was a left foot crammed into the right shoe.

It was day and lights, not day and night. It was fenced in, thumbing its nose at Cole Porter. It hobbled over Henny Penny’s fallen sky.

I think all the world has fallen. And it was long ago.

No longer six feet under

The sea had risen, forming new tidal marks around the trunks of buildings. It had bleached the foliage of the trees. It had taken the colour from the wings of birds, butterflies, and moths, also, making a fable of my pocket.

As I had slept, Atlantis rose, or so it seemed. Bringing with it a band of subterranean garden-hose sea snakes and rusted shopping trolley chariots. Ring pulls, wrappers, waste, and gelato spoons too.

As what was sunken now bobbed to the surface, I sought to crown a fallen rodent burning in the light, but my eyes alighted on the gleam of a beer cap masquerading as a coin.

Minding the sludge, I had slipped the hook. I pulled the neck of my t-shirt back in place, and gambolled ever onwards.