the latin for filling-her-pockets

so. research and cataloging. happy pursuits really. one thing, among many, that lights up my insides is the phenomenon of amassing, sorting, dividing and displaying. this, potentially, was cultivated (and then propagated) by two simultaneous experiences in college. the first was my maiden voyage into the swoony field of the cataloguess/librarian while assisting in RISD's nature lab:

and also by a trip to RISD's special collections where i was thoughtfully introduced to this magnificent woman by the collection's curator who thought 'it might appeal to me.' likely she had no idea what kind of impression the collection and this book in particular made on me, but i am nevertheless gratefully indebted. 

this is the work of Candy Jernigan. she called herself a 'collection artist' and practiced in New York City until the mid-80s. this catalog of catalogs is mind blowing. someone, at long last, publicly displayed, with love, the mundane trash of our lives and showcased it into something meaningful and potent. one project involved the collection, display and precise mapping of dope vials Jernigan found within a specified area. others are less a commentary but no less powerful. a collection of single sheets of toilet paper from various famous museums in paris, lined up and labeled. or a similar treatment of various bits of dust from the houses of the famous and deceased, presented in the sterile glassine windowpanes more commonly used by lepidopterists. nevertheless, Jernigan's thesis (that the overlooked is consequential) stuck with me through college and up to the present day. friends of mine have joked and rolled eyes when i pass my sketchbook around at breakfast and demand everyone spill their coffee on the page and write their name nearby. certainly cumbersome and my notebooks have (at least a few) taken on a certain vegetal quality from all the food documentation. but then, my memories of every tuesday in the month of october, 2008 are all right there, literally stamped in acid and saccharin which is a most crystalline way to move backwards in time.

the reason i bring this up is because, autumn being upon us, i am always beset at this time of year to collect and catalog the living things (or their remains) before they are wiped, whitely, out of view for a few months. seed pods have been objects of fascination for years and i dutifully bring them inside and brush by them all winter leaving a trampled carpet of straw and obliterated leaves in the carpet, doggedly refusing to 'clean them up' even when their mess persists. but a seed pod is kind of dependable, solid vessel. we know that sorts of patterning it is cradling, just waiting for famine or fire or flood to release it and start the uncurling green newness we are so desperate for later in the year. this year, having wide lapses of time to myself, the catalog of the mundane has grown. thematically it is a collection of the outdoor leftovers and so, as a small joke, has become 'the science pile' and it spreads daily over one of the few pieces of furniture in the house as a record of all kinds of exploits

 

that said, one question that is coming up while researching the dreaded critical analysis paper is Lacan's question. it is a very good one. actually, Lacan feels he has answered the question for everyone, but many people will make a fuss on this question's behalf. thus, i am of the opinion of presenting his thesis as a question, allowing everyone to come to her own decision about it's implications. the question is this:

is language a result of subjective experience?

or rather

is language an innate host for meaning?

do we use language to describe our surroundings and orient us or is our experience of the world informed and shaped purely by language?

if i deem the items in the science pile 'mundane' i have assigned them a kind of (loaded) weight, but while we can, as speakers of the english language, agree on the definition of 'mundane' its consequences are infinitely individual. which either makes language meek and limited or so abundant in variation that it makes the throat creek like a dry riverbed at the thought of saying. anything.

so currently, this question is being held captive in one of the spare vials above until better things can be attached to it (or pasted down, or pinned, or stapled, or affixed with a manila label and inscribed with a quill pen.)


ps...
...if you're wondering what's up there:
- two shreds of wasp paper, from a mysteriously absent wasp house
- a knuckle of rotted wood, shorn down so as to appear exactly as a hermit crab on land
- the petal bodies of two tuberose
-a stack of shards from a beautiful, lost, Port Marion china saucer
-vial i: a salvaged nasturtium seed from last year's first successful nasturtium propagating
-vial ii: glacial chips from a tundra in Alaska
-vial iii: a caribou tooth (likely a bottom front one)
-vial iv: very special, luminous, important glacial chips, with a promised metamorphosis
-another caribou tooth, obviously a molar (and eNORmous)
-a glacial stone
-a salvaged cutting tool from the southern deserts (similar to an arrowhead, but more rounded, maybe for scooping)
-a perfectly forked stick whose individual forks are also forked, and then forked again
-larkspur blossoms from a certain lovely homecoming
-a butterfly wing
-a shiny piece of stone obviously with some graphite or obsidian- wet-looking. all the time.
-a rock with a hole in its center, almost all the way through (a kind friend once told me these are the luckiest)
-a moonface whose brother belongs to a much loved friend
-a butterfly wing
-a tiny tin vial with an even smaller, more fragile butterfly wing
-a thimbleberry leaf underneath:
-three more bright blue glacial chips
-a strange cheese doodle of an early seedpod
-an icy chunk of quartzite from down south
-a smooth stone (probably feels good in the mouth) from a similar place
-a knot of webbing from a retired (and inexplicably exhausted) hiking sandal
-a moqui ball/devil's marble
-the first yellow leaf of autumn with (you guessed?) more glacial stones
-various shrines to the virgin mary

could you have guessed them all?