Eroyn Franklin debuts her new book of hand-cut images and text, Another Glorious Day At The Nothing Factory, at Fantagraphics Bookstore & Gallery Aug. 22, 6-9 p.m.
As the title suggests, it’s a Northwest memoir.
ON FAMILY
ROAD TRIPS WHEN I WAS LITTLE I LAID DOWN IN THE BACK SEAT OF THE
MINIVAN. I WOULD ARRANGE MY HEAD SO THAT WHEN I LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW
ALL I COULD SEE WERE CLOUDS. I WOULD PRETEND WE WERE FLYING AND THAT
THERE WAS NO SUCH THING AS LAND. WHENEVER A TALL TREE OR A TELEPHONE
POLE WOULD CAREEN INTO MY LINE OF SIGHT I WOULD CLOSE MY EYES AND
SQUEEZE OUT ITS MEMORY, THE MEMORY OF SOIL.
HE WAS BORN
ON THE DARKEST DAY OF THE YEAR. A FACT THAT SEEMED TO COINCIDE WITH
HIS DEMEANOR. I LOVED HIS SADNESS, NOT THE MAKING OF HIS SORROW, BUT
ITS AUTUMNAL KINDRED QUALITY. ITS SUBTLE PERVASIVENESS SO SIMILARLY
ALIGNED WITH MINE. HE WAS LIKE A DOLEFUL GRANDFATHER WHOSE MOMENTS
COULD BE BRIGHTENED SO HANDSOMELY BY HIS BROOD. I SO RARELY GOT TO
DRAW THIS OUT IN HIM, NOT ON HIS FAULT, BUT BECAUSE I WAS LAZY WITH OUR
LOVE. LAZY BEING THE LEAST BAD THING I CAN SAY ABOUT MY BEHAVIOR.
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