how the mighty have fallen

Over exertion while pursuing the absolute maximum photographs per day is the name of the game. Goodness, good morning! Good night.


the orphanange © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

I am still dizzy from a full weekend which included hanging out with the collegiate posse that has recently relocated to The City proper from points beyond. Lopping off all my hair.


the fix © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Crack of dawn rising to greet fellow photographer of abandoned things Tom Bejgrowicz and his lovely partner in crime Jennifer, whereupon we made our way to the House of Smoke and Mirrors which lent us some special sunrise sleight of hand. Curiously, though it showed no other signs of human presence, two rooms that had been previously locked up were open to us.


basement baygrowits © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The morning light favored the basement more than the afternoon light I was used to seeing it in. Tom and I examined the mad stash of booze, 70s style wet bar, and a cabinet of plaster casts and a kiln, which seemed to be used to fire the tiny vessels from the casts. Pompom fringe and silk flowers caught the morning light... and the basement door, once locked, was hanging open to the greenhouse. Maybe the house has had some brawny inquisitors in my absence.


up and coming © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.


mulled cider © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.




tinder hooks © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.


apricot © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.



fall of the empire © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Immediately rushing off to another shoot with Michael and a model-friend I have been wanting to shoot with for ages- tanya dakin. Wherein we hit up not one but two abandoned houses I'd visited in past: Peru House and Riddle House.


frankincense © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.


nightshade © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Allowing Tanya to take the styling reigns, I provided her visual clues about the houses and she ran with it much to my delight. Despite the chill in the air, she was fairly fearless, trash picking for props, climbing up on precarious ledges, scaling questionable stairs. Tanya came out unscathed, but I managed to fall through the floor.


velvetine © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Yes... it was bound to happen sooner or later. Second floor of Riddle House, Michael was shooting some portraits of Tanya and I was milling about scouting my next spot and I walked into an adjacent room and was looking at a fire-damaged corner.


seizure © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

As I went to leave the room, the floor gave out under my right foot and I plunged knee deep into the floor. Fortunately I was wearing knee high boots and I came out without a scratched... the boots are looking a little rough. We fought the fading light and broken glass the rest of the afternoon to great effect. Many thanks to Tanya for keeping it fresh and both of us on our toes.

Last weekend, Ms. Beaver and I teamed up once more for our most elaborate collab to date. We had to put this shoot off for several weeks, twice getting ditched on by model number one, we finally pulled together a new model, Danielle Guldin, and a pinch-hitting makeup artist, Jessi Liberatore. I had originally asked Sarah to play on the theme of patterns. I wanted to draw in pattern through light and backdrop/environment and I wanted her to carry it through the clothes' textures, textile patterns and accessories.


arise © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The four of us prepped at my apartment and spent a bit of time shooting in my bedroom, where Sarah and I pulled together some props from around the house to set the scene. The light loved us.

We headed down to Wales House. Last time I had visited there, we noted that there was a contractor's trailer nearby, but the construction site was across the street. Saturday afternoon... who would be working?!


nestling © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

I go to turn in the driveway and there to greet me is a heavy duty pickup and backhoe, whereupon I sloppily swerve back onto the road to avoid hitting them head on.


underneath © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Rather panicked, we pulled into a parking lot up the street and paused to collect our thoughts and wait for them to clear the area. About ten minutes later, we returned to the lot and ended up being in the clear for the rest of the afternoon.


beaming © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.


home on the range © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Danielle was energetic and very instrumental in the process, bringing her performing background to the 'characters' and drawing out a beautiful narrative. The farmhouse and the vintage pieces from the 30s, 40s and 80s set the stage for what is perhaps my favorite editorial to date.

Michael and I decided to take a scenic get-lost tour of Durty Jerz. We managed to shirk responsibility for several hours and finding our way back to life.


mum's the word © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Today I found out that the constructs along with my relatively new Viewville representation have been blogged over at the extremely popular design-for-home blog, Apartment Therapy - Chicago.




Though I am coming down with a cold, it looks promising (if that is the appropriate word for it) that I will be having what had damn well better be my last surgery in about two weeks' time. I am meeting with the Butcher this week to discuss the ins and outs and I am filling with the expected amounts of dread which I have been doing everything I can to offset with hyper-busyness. With the promise of colonoscopy prep to start and three days of clear liquid diet afterwards, plus the two weeks of bedrest into two more weeks of laying low, I am doing all I can to not think about it until absolutely necessary. My friends at the hospital will be happy to see me again no doubt. I should bring a party platter for them.... and jello shooters for me.

At the very least, it should keep me from falling into holes and getting caught by the authorities for a little while. That being said Sarah and I have been discussing another wintery shoot which I am rather excited to dig into once she is back in the US and I am back on my feet... and lacking work of substance.

Oh and one last thing, this Friday I will have been blogging here for THREE YEARS!! Happy Bloggiversary to me!

EDIT TO ADD: I loved this blog post that Tanya wrote about her experience shooting with us... I can't recall if I ever wrote about the party where we met, but we were in fact both bearded ladies and have been talking about working together for the year and a half its been since.

when one has spent a long time undressed from the waist down...

...one should consider going Down The Shore™, so that one feels, by comparison, less naked.


scrub © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The past couple weeks have finally started resembling the life I remember having a long time ago. Despite the lack of work... or perhaps because of it, I've been getting around. Gwyn, Michael and I decided for my first shoot-outing in a month, we should do it up right. Destination: Pennhurst State School and Hospital. We were given explicit directions on how to get onto the campus so as to avoid certain problematic situations. Little did we know that the rugged mile and a half trail on a near 100 degree day, in the very wrongest shoes, carrying a maximum of equipment would totally kick our asses before we actually even made it into a building. Magnificent blisters! Hobos! Humidity!


fire door © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

But! Wow. Once we settled on a building to investigate, we spent the next couple of hours, slowly making our way through the Christmas-themed rubble of the Assembly Hall, which looked as though it had been abandoned in the midst of a holiday pageant. Admittedly I felt a little off my game... having not shot in ages, feeling so totally drained before even digging in, not to mention having to literally take baby steps so that my feet didn't self-destruct... it took us almost an hour before we discovered what appeared to be living quarters above the auditorium.


organgrinder © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Pennhurst has suffered a great deal of vandalism, naturally, over the past twenty years it has sat vacant, more recently scrappers have really taken their toll. They were probably responsible for the destruction of just about every bathroom fixture. Most of the residents' possessions in this building were long gone, with the exception of a couple office-like rooms with some desks, toys, and some papers, including what appeared to be a music teacher's teaching aids - drawings of musical notes.


pageantry © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

We started to fade pretty fast, so we cut our visit short knowing we had a long, hot walk back to the car. I wasn't overly pleased with the resulting photos, but it inspired some curiosity and fears about the site and what I found made me question whether or not I wanted to take the risk and return. Better planning and a cooler day will probably make all the difference. It took me a two days to recover from that visit, but I am rather invigorated now, so bouncing back should happen faster. Walking now whenever I can, Nordictracking it in between.


vanities © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.


scent of sleep © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The following week, finding herself temporarily unemployed, Shanners recommended we do something cheap and fun. We had been pining to visit Terrain at Styers for some time now and with a gorgeous day on our hands, we trekked out. With all of its parent company's inventive flair.


the opening © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Slackjawed and whimpering at the loveliness, we walked through, doubling and tripling back to admire and re-admire the copious gorgeousness, over the course of two hours. I could barely put down my camera. We enjoyed spritzers in the cafe and mused about how much more exciting our abodes would be if we were both independently wealthy. Ah if only.


the light from within © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

altar © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The mercury has been fast on the rise for weeks now. Michael and I collective blood was boiling at the thought of staying in the city another weekend, with little choice but to hide out indoors. We whittled down the options, but the low 80s with low humidity with a breeze offered up by the OC, proved too tempting to ignore. Doused in sunscreen, we set out on the most backasswards route to avoid the well backed-up AC Expressway. On the to-do list du jour: walk walk walk, good-bad food, photographing. We walked the entire length of the boardwalk and then some. Admired wiry, sweaty jogger, obnoxious nearly naked youth, saggy swimsuited old ladies. And then steamers. Fried shrimp. Scalllops. French Fries. Gelato. Saltwater taffy. Ocean air.


cyclical © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Did a body good. And a mind.

Just before we busted a beachward move, I paid the Butcher a visit, the last for a long time (comparatively). After the last procedure, I swore he said we'd only wait a month before we could try to repair me again. The next time we spoke, I swore he said two months. This time, he said he wanted to see me at the end of August to see how we were progressing and then we would wait until the end of September to try again. My heart sank. Shanners and I talked and we realized that if I had the procedure at September's end, I would more than likely not be in any shape to shoot her wedding a couple weeks later. So I have decided that I will wait until mid-October at the earliest to attempt the surgery again. It is difficult to imagine that much time between here and health. Healthy birthday, no. Happy birthday, perhaps I can manage. Maybe healthy holidays. Goals are hard to set. Nay. Impossible.


descent © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Meanwhile... Happy New Year! I have a show in January at Cafe Estelle!!! Something to tide me over until I can secure a gallery showing with the constructs in mind. So this will likely feature my more recent abandoned interiors. First Tuesday of the month, opening, that is January 6th, 2009. Be there!


cloud number two © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

the prometheus panel

This has gone on so long now I feel like a 7-year-old who has decided to see how many grapes they can fit in their mouth without out choking on them or spitting them out. Time to launch them across the room before my face gets stuck this way, that is, silent/blogless.

The weekend prior to the most major surgery to date, Michael wanted to take us out for some explorings as it seemed unlikely I would be very mobile for some weeks to come. Unfortunately it was a rather dismal and drizzly day but we sallied forth towards the mecca of oddities that is Delaware. Revisiting some of the places Apricot Nancy had taken Shanners and myself some months before. We were on the hunt for a new untouched abandonedments, passing on quite a few that were out in the open. The daylight was waning and the weather had just cleared when on a whim we turned down a side road. And only a moment's drive down the road, we found IT.


pastoral © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

There is a long, organic list of conditions that need to be met in order to follow through with infiltration once a site has been located. It was immediately obvious that this house totally fit the bill. The smidgen of light left in the day helped guide the old man mobile down the drive and behind the house. There was an occupied house next door but the trees and outbuildings created a sufficient screen. We crept in through the open back door, met with piles of furniture, animal feces, papers, books, tools and mysterious scraps.
It appeared to have been abandoned in the early 80s.


tidal pool © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The growing dark and insurmountable mountains of stuff made it impossible to get a better picture of why it had been abandoned. The upstairs was fairly barren. We meandered around the outside a bit and Michael wandered off to the side of the house nearest the residence next door.


hibiscus tea © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

I cringed as I heard a distant kid's voice saying '...man taking photos over there...' followed by the sudden reappearance of Michael making a beeline for the car. Hurriedly we drove off, hearts racing, into the dreary Felton sunset.


thrush © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Having just returned from a nearly three hour consultation with my now seventh doctor, I am feeling a bit weak of body and spirit. The last month has been filled with so much hope, disappointment and anxiety, it seems I am running out of room. I'm managed to avoid documenting this all photographically for the most part, and while it feels unnatural to not do so, there is nothing beautiful about this process. I don't want to be reminded of it when I don't have to be. And I don't want to hold on to it for posterity. There is something to be said for knowing and experiencing these particular pains and heartbreaks, but honestly I wouldn't want to share them with anyone, not even my worst enemy.

Tax day, 2008. Michael came to collect me, weary and hungry, for the surgery that was to fix me, in one month's time. It was to be the biologic cork in my hole. It is unsettling when you arrive at the hospital and not only do you recognize the nurses and staff, but they recognize you and they can say without uncertainty, well you know the drill. Some fears were brewing over the new approach to anaesthesia - the spinal. Especially after the Nurse Anaesthetist had to try 3 or 4 times to just get my IV started... the idea of someone poking an uncertain needle in my spine coiled me into a tight ball of nerves I did my best not to show. The Butcher was his usual jovial, hopefully self even as I turned his handshake into a stressball while being unsuccessfully stabbed in the opposite hand.

The last thing I recall was wheeling into the OR, chatting with the nurses and assistants, being leaned over a pillow and injected in the back. They said I would have to lay down but I don't remember that at all. When I came to, I heard nurses talking about Vegas and I started to talk about going to Vegas in March and how nice it was. And I looked up and saw The Butcher with his chile pepper surgical cap on and started asking him about spicy food and where he likes to eat Korean cos there is a good one in North Wales. He prefers Thai.

Sitting in recovery, I snarfed massive quantities of saltines and ginger ale and wondered at the logistics of how my feet felt like they itched when they felt nothing at all. The nurse would periodically come over and poke me in the stomach and legs to see how much of my feeling was returning. I had the overwhelming urge to prop my knees up for quite some time, but was unable to move or feel anything from the waist down. In turn I would rub my legs to see if I felt anything. After an hour I rub my left lef with my knuckles and bizarrely my right leg spasmed. And again. It was terrifying, frustrating and oddly exciting. The feeling returning was prickly, tight and completely alien. Apparently the hips feeling returns even after the toes, so while I could move and feel my feet and legs, I wasn't allowed to stand up for quite some time. It took some three hours before I was walkable and released into the strong arms of The Michael.

We pranced around Rite Aid, me still post-op giddy, collecting high fiber nibbles and painkillers and antiobiotics. Michael had arranged for my mostly immobilized self to spend the next day and a half in his bed. Fulfilling my every whim and craving for Fluffy brand buttered egg noodles. Though we ended up talking too much to sleep, I managed to avoid the post-operative fanatic weepies and barfing for quite some time. When I was finally feeling strong enough the evening of the day following surgery... I was craving something other than cheerios and saltines... we made the ill-advised decision to drive to South Philly for some falafel. My stomach's ease had been waxing and waning all day but somehow this seemed like a good idea. Approximately 2 minutes after consuming the falafel, sitting in the car, I knew this would not end well. Attempting to race against my stomach, hurtling down 76, the falafel returned in its full glory, not 15 minutes after I put it away.

With this glowing testimonial, I can say Bitar's, you suck and you make me puke. Maoz, however has AMAZING falafel and an impressive pickly-salady-fixins bar that makes mouths happy. That came later.

The Butcher gave me a timeline of about four weeks of being gentle, no acrobatics, exercise or exertion so I wouldn't bust my cork out. This seemed manageable. The drugs were working to knock out the pain for the most part. I went back to work and didn't have any embarrassing events including but not limited to falling asleep in inappropriate places. I was uncertain, however, that it would work. I followed the rules laid out... despite the threats made by the Butcher that I shouldn't return to work at all that week. I felt pretty good... considering.

The following week I had a bit of a freak out and visited the Butcher... who still seemed optimistic despite my concerns and what seemed like stitches coming loose....



hungers © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

In an attempt to get out for an airing two weeks after surgery, Michael drove us to Quakertown to visit Qmart and browse. Afterwards, while attempting to get lost in Bucks county/find abandoned houses, we stumbled upon Henry Mercer's architectural oddity, The Moravian Tile Works in Doylestown. We half-assedly took the tour, dispensing with guides and videos, in order to to free ourselves of tour group photo-obstructions. It was right around this time that something inside fully gave way.



kiln © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Over the next five days I became increasingly certain that the surgery had failed. The signs were all too clear for me to ignore. My next follow up with the Butcher confirmed my fear and he admitted that when he saw me last he thought it was going to fail as well. He said he had consulted with a gastroenterologist colleague of his and Dr. GE said that he has never seen this sort of persistence of this condition without the presence of Crohn's, especially someone at my age. Butcher said he wanted me to go see Dr. GE, who would run some blood tests and possibly have me swallow a little pill camera, which in all honesty is about the most exciting thing I have heard EVER, with respect to my health at large.

So about three hours ago I returned from my nearly three hour consultation with Dr. Bert, the GE. Most of that time was spent with the scheduling girl who waded through paperwork, codes, diagnoses, time slots, preps, directions, scrips and phone calls. Dr. Bert and his assistant both seem quite certain I have Crohn's, its just a matter of locating it in my digestive system. Since my tests from the fall didn't show any signs, they think it might be higher up, perhaps in my stomach or upper portion of my small intestines. The coming week alone I will be visiting the hospital 3 times. In order, I am having a specialized pelvic CT scan... which involves a short fast and a barium milkshake, followed by a slew of blood tests including an insanely expensive uninsured super-proprietary test that screens for certain antibodies present with Crohn's, Colitis, and Inflammatory Bowel, called The Prometheus Panel. Which, considering it costs just short of $500, should also predict my future (at least for the next year) and take me out to dinner and a movie.

Manners, dude! Not a cheap date. Man.


disintegration © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

At the end of the next week I will have another procedure with Dr. Butcher for comfort's sake... Thankfully he says I will be needing neither a spinal nor full-on anaesthesia this time... only a local and some sedation. The next week holds the upper endoscopy.... not unlike an inverted colonoscopy, I should be out for this one they say! But that is what they said about the colonoscopy and I have some trust issues with anaethesiologists.

After my last appointment with the Butcher, I told Michael I wanted to throw caution to the wind a little since I was officially rebroken... there was technically nothing I couldn't do, for the time being. So, what, you ask, had been missing? Well... cheese. I demanded white pizza. And mojitos. And exercise. All of which I enjoyed to excess for a short window of time... until it became too painful. Exercising control once more.


On an eavesdropped tip from the doctor's office we thought a trip to the Cowtown flea market in the Jerz would be a pleasant afternoon jaunt. In under an hour we were deeply into the greenest pastures of NJ, admiring distantly some choice abandoned houses while negotiating the windy roads to Pilesgove. Curiously we entered the township of Pilesgrove, continued along the road, entered another town, and then reentered Pilesgrove, this happened at a number of different places... stopping to ask directions twice, a total of 5 attempts were made before we were able to successfully infiltrate the vortex that is Pilesgrove.

After the Cowtown experience, one wishes it was a little better hidden. Though I haven't been flea marketing for very long, I have a fair knowledge of what to expect as far as what is normally sold at them, the backwoodsy population frequenting them, and the general precautions to take. With the promise of a rodeo and a livestock auction, we thought we knew what we were getting into. Alas. It was more like we got dumped on a street corner in North Philly. I have never been afraid of getting mugged at a flea market. Until now. None of the usual tables of people selling odds and ends antiquities and second hand clothes. The stalls sold only copious bling (including enormous jewelled skull belt buckles that were really tempting), discount perfume, stripper-wear, cellphone jackets, mexican music, used VHS videos, porn, and candy. Holy ghetto batman. When I made the mistake of wandering from Michael's side for a moment, some guy with a horrifying gericurl sidled up next to me, rubbing his chest suggestively and gaped at my tits much to the horror of Michael who had fallen mere steps behind. After maybe 45 minutes, we made a run back to PA trying to piece together the hows and whys of Cowtown. There weren't anything but farms for miles around... its very existence seemed improbable at best. We both have decided we dreamed (nightmared really) the whole thing.


alison leans the kills @ johnny brendas © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.


That evening Johnny Brendas welcomed The Kills to the stage... and for the first time in many months I decided to go to a show. Michael was covering it for work and invited me along to make the evening a bit more enjoyable. My only exposure to The Kills was by way of his show preview written some time before... I wasn't sure what to expect but I was pleasantly surprised. They are rather like PJ Harvey with jaggedy electronica edges. And they made me want to moan and move in ways inappropriate for public consumption.


smoke machine the kills @ johnny brendas © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Well. Glad to have gotten that out of my system. I should purge the thoughts more often. I am still having some trouble wrapping my head around what will be come of me the next few weeks. The tests will point to how my problem will be treated but I currently am without a timeline as to when I will be 'fixed' yet again.



interior life © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

And if I do have Crohn's, that, separate from my other malady, is a forever sort of thing. It brings up questions that I am not ready to answer or consider about my professional life. It makes my head hurt and my stomach ache. I have a lot to process. I wish it were all just photographs. They're ever so much easier to process.

NOTE For those of you in the Philadelphia area, Ms. Shanners is going to have some things she has worked on for sale at a new boutique, including a revamped gossip bench, vintage trays, a clock and prints. Expect coasters, pocket mirrors and more functional art to be available both at Bohema and in her youwannatalkjive Etsy shop by the end of the month! Details on the opening follow:

Please come to the pre-opening of Bohema Artisan and Vintage Boutique on Friday, May 9th from 6-10pm. The store's official opening will be on Saturday, May 10th, so be sure to check it out if you're in the area!

The location of the boutique is:
6152 Ridge Avenue, Philadelphia, PA 19128

There will be hors d'oeuvres, cocktails and guests can mingle with the artists featured in the shop. The boutique is a mixture of old and new, with quality vintage as well as new merchandise, mainly hand-made by local artists and marketed to women. I'll be there, so don't hesitate to stop by and indulge in free cheese cubes with me!

the garden state

Its been a few weeks since I have properly had my wits about me to form sentences let alone a whole post... along with the time to do so. I've also been looking for that sentence to start this flow of words. I've also been afraid to say it... in the grand worrywart tradition of when good things happen, don't talk about it, you will jinx it for sure.


whippoorwill © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.


Furthermore in the tradition of this blog, I write when I return from the doctor's office... but I've even waited a few days past that. In a way I've defied the doctor's diagnosis in a way I couldn't have foreseen... and could not have envisioned any more perfectly if I tried. The Butcher tells me I will be socially on hold until I am mended. And suddenly I feel better in unprecedented ways. This is not limbo any longer.


conjoined © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

I've spent a few months of being very tight-lipped about certain parts of my life, to most everyone really, but the closest of the close. The shrunken innermost circle has grown by one. His name is Michael. Just thought you should know, if anyone bothers to read ye olde blogge anymore... he is the Right Hand Man to my Fidgety Left Hand Woman. We met a month ago, somewhere between words on a page, an abandoned house, a ten-hour phone conversation, the Towpath and the Ikea vestibule. He is extraordinary. Not least of all in that he can inhabit all those places at once. Since then we've been many tints and shades of everywhere together... in a grander emotional sense and in the four-hour car rides without a specific destination sense. It is so very good.


200 years of loss © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

So next week, I am getting fixed. Michael will pick me up and cart me to the hospital in the old man mobile. As requested, the Butcher will give me a spinal so I can experience all the flavors of bizarre detached discomfort he has on his bottomless butt buffet. And then my useless lower and groggy upper halves will be released to my Right Hand Man who will tend my sleepy Frankenstein remixed body for the next day or two.


connexion © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Luckily, when I asked if he was patient, he did not hesitate to say yes, absolutely... without any notion of what he was about to get himself into. I'd like to publicly cry out from the snowy-capped blogtops, there is nothing I appreciate more, now or ever. Thank you. Thank you.


the welcome attentions © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The past month has been ripe with adventures, uncovering new places, making up stories for the inaccessible ones, slyly entering the open ones, reliving history, reaching for a future, going places I will never be able to again. Making things with a fury, seeing with excited eyes again. And not missing the things that matter as they appear before me.


cochineal © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

I don't think, in my flagging consciousness of increasingly late night, I can do justice to what has become of me in the month since I have written. Even better things are undeniably ahead, I just needed to break the silence, somewhat gracefully and at the right time. And that time is today.

Finally, Happy Birthday Sweets, I promise it will be a good one. Maybe I'll make this my adoptive birthday, since I deferred celebration in September. It feels right.

barren

A bevy of attempts have been made to turn the ship around and have some good times, while I have been thinking gray dismal thoughts. And the latest few have actually worked for the most part.


gossip © Laura Kicey

Last-last Monday, to start the week off right, I went to the hospital to sit perfectly still for 45 minutes in a tiny plastic tube that makes deafening noises. Since I needed a dye injection I have a giant bruise on my arm that I decided was the shape of a dodo, so to improve upon the marring, I have drawn a ballpoint pen tattoo of a dodo on my arm. Much less scary now. The MRI showed nothing terrifically abnormal, some lymph nodes that are a little puffed up which doesn't come as a surprise. So next week I see my specialist, and what he may or may not know fills me with dread. Nurse Mother did some reading a couple weeks back and had a Health Epiphany. While I cannot describe with any exactness here, my hypothetical prognosis basically explains everything that has happened to me in the last now 7 months, including things that would be symptoms, that were ignored as unrelated... and why I don't heal. The more I read about this, the more I filled with relief. If this is indeed what I have going on inside me, the better the possibility of actually fixing things, for once.


pearl s. buck © Laura Kicey

Work for Mr. D has been taking him and occasionally myself into what we considered off-limits territory.

Jersey. The land that hates on us hardcore.

As in the name of health and comfort I take vinegar and then soak in a bath of it, we have delved into explorations of the Jerze, and much to our surprise, have found many a delight therein.

This last weekend found us in the Pine Barrens. Voluntarily crossing state lines to the east without promise of payment. Though I did take a great deal of stock-worthy shots (and little else). Seeing as the PBs cover 1.1 million acres, it isn't exactly as though one day trip and we've got the area completely under our control.


brushfire © Laura Kicey

We started off in Tabernacle and tried to get ourselves lost, which is generally our most effective tactic... thinking we'd eventually see something worthy of note. And we didn't. So I picked a rough looking side road to turn down off the main route, and moments later we were headed down an "unimproved sand road" (overstatement of the century), bouncing and swerving all the way. We found a cranberry bog, though there is really no shortage of them, a campground (likewise), a lot of deer, and well, pine trees.


thicket © Laura Kicey

I had a half a tank of gas. The car seemed to be holding out, we were only driving about 10mph tops, because it just wasn't possible to drive any faster without your pimped out SUV.... but there was this palpable tension that grew the further we drove along this tiny little excuse for a road. There is no cell reception. This road isn't on a map. Mr. D-Navigation surmised our general direction from tree shadows, but this did not prevent the fear of my little car dying.

Just when I was giving up all hope, suddenly we were deposited on a main route, possibly the one we had been driving on previously, moments away from the entrance of Batsto Village. I have problems with going to historical sites, while I like the information I can gather from reading, I prefer the info that I gather with just the visuals... seeing as its the making of the visuals that might make me the money... in the most desirable fashion. Part laziness, but partly good business. If my eyes don't find a use for it, I can't sell it. Must have an idea or be beautifully abstract just for me.


rib cage © Laura Kicey

I'm thinking in ways I haven't before, due to a different kind of loving push from Ms. Wiernik of Yo! Darkroom. I've been given a solo show in April of 2008 and I am bristling with excitement. But I also want to give it something new that my other showings have lacked. Coherence on another level, and I am trying to prod the pictures to tell me how they would most like to be viewed in the space.


recoil © Laura Kicey

I little piece of me has always wanted to do backlit transparencies, but most of me is so unfineart, I wouldn't know where to begin, or how much would be involved physically (construction and space wise) or financially. Also, although I am daunted and used to working ass backwardly, I would like to give myself an assignment, or two, to keep chipping away at over the coming months. Pine Barrens explorations are in there, kicking around, along with another. But I'll let that unfurl when it is actually set.


raise © Laura Kicey

Tomorrow, Mr. The Dust and I are headed off Central Pennsylvanianings. Night Train to Terror plays in Harrisburg and we are going a-flea marketing. It is late and my eyes have their own set of plans, looking at the screen is not on the list....


barren © Laura Kicey