Charlotte rimaud

Tempests blessed my sea-awakenings— lighter than a cork, I danced among the breakers, waves some call the endless roll of victims—for ten nights—I did not miss the foolish eye of any lighthouse.

Sweeter than the flesh of sour apples for a child, green sea-water, spilling through my pine hull, washed away the stains from blue wine and the vomit, took with them my grappling hook and rudder. I have seen sun setting, clotting luminous with violet, dyed with mystic terrors— and, like actors in an antique play, waves distant, rolling—flickering shutters. I have dreamed the green nights into dazzling snow-fields. Hull rocking against unimagined Floridas, I blended human hides with panther eyes and flowers!

I looked and saw how marshes ferment—in the rushes, nets—a Leviathan is rotting! Glaciers, suns like silver coins, pearl waves and ember skies! Atrocious beaches in the depths of the dark inlets where monstrous snakes the insects are devouring fall from twisting branches, black-perfumed foliage. At times I wished to show to children dolphins in the waves, how the sunfish sing—foam- flowers lulled me as I drifted—winds that I cannot describe gave me their wings.

I saw the archipelagos of stars! In night-fathoms will you sleep in exile? The truth is that my weeping is extravagant!

Dawns break sadly, every moon appalls; the sun embitters. Acrid love will swell my drunken indolence. So let my keel burst! Let me go to sea! If I must sail in European waters, let them be night-black, a frigid pool on fragrant evenings where a grieving child beside the water kneels and frees a frail boat like a late-May butterfly.

And waves, dear waves—bathed in your languors, I no longer overtake the wake of freighters, or sail before the fleets of flames and pennants, or swim beneath the eyes of prison vessels.

When the tower is broken, the bells continue to swing, but where? I do try to discover the translation—or a translation—it offers, perhaps as another of its blessings. The clocks are giving him face! I also giggled when I realized that the clocks were "red-handed. February 11, From: Charlotte L. Loves it; but of course, it's more than that. It's amusing to see the emaciated poet revamped as a sex symbol.

I am also delighted to see that for this project, Charlotte L. They are a great touch because they definitely give the piece an extra something as well as adding a wonderfully three dimensional element to the page. To further Rimbaud's transformation, Charlotte L. Her mail art inevitably references Andy Warhol's screen prints of the blond bombshell.

While his mass-produced images are some of the most celebrated images of Monroe, I prefer Charlotte L. Because Warhol utilized mass production techniques, I believe this in turn created a gaping distance between the creator and the created.

Inversely, Charlotte L. For the final touch, she applied red lipstick over Rimbaud's lips by kissing him. And how could you not love mail art that has been sealed with a kiss?!

January 26, From: Becky S. Brought to you by the mischievous mind of Becky S. Using what appears to be crayon and sharpie, this artist created a wonderful scene set against blue sky by potting some lovely ferns in Rimbaud's eyes as well as outlining his portrait and adding a pair of animated hands. I am interested here in the tension between the playfulness of the piece interpreted from the use of crayon and cartoonish drawing style and the ambiguous pose of Rimbaud is he gripping his own face or mugging for the camera?

Most importantly, I love Becky S. January 20, From: God aka Emily G. I knew from the get-go that this project would be something special. But I really had no clue that it would the attract likes of God.

Yes, that's right, God has participated in this mailing event. I even have proof. When I received this in the mail, the sender's name was written in bold red marker as "God.

Fondly, Ms. Emily G. What I love most about this one is that she has indeed been successful in her claims -- that is, to create and contribute a "completely new icon. After vigorously marking the image with pencil and red and orange marker, she put on the finishing touch: a color photograph of herself, cigarette in hand with a toy cowboy protruding from her pants and a wicked grin.

The irreverence of this piece would make Ray Johnson proud. I certainly am! Oh, and to see more fantastic artwork by Emily G. January 13, From: The Mystery Mailer. When I received this Rimbaud in the mail, it came unsigned on both the work of art and the envelope. Cue dramatic music, please! Therefore, it's shrouded in mystery and I've dubbed the author, "The Mystery Mailer. It's simple and thought-provoking. After I stopped thinking about who could possibly be the artist! January 12, From: Anonymous.

It turns out it was indeed an accident -- but sometimes accidents are the best art. Even though I gave the artist another chance to actually follow the instructions and use the photocopy of Rimbaud, I decided to post this submission because 1. January 6, From: Angel G.