October 6, 2025

Charles L. Marshall, Sr.

         Charles Leroy Marshall, Sr (USA, 1905-1992) hailed from Kansas.  Today I’ve got a cache of small linoleum block prints all made within a few years around 1929-1933.  I have actually shared one of Marshall’s pieces before at my post “Let There Be Light,” but that was hardly a representative example.  Today I’ve got a pleasing collection of scenes, all with a focus on architecture.
        I’m starting with a greeting card from 1931, partly because it might be my favorite, and partly to mention this orange ink.  Marshall seems to have printed many if not most of his pieces in both black versions and orange versions.  I have no idea whether he just really liked orange, or whether he got a great deal on orange ink cheap, or what.  It’s an unusual choice and I generally prefer the black versions, but I did want to include one in orange just to show you.  As for the subject, I’m a sucker for little, magical-looking towns in scenic locations.
        Next is the City Hall of Albany, NY, which I like for its spare composition and its gorgeous bare-branched trees.  I love the balance of having very little detail, but it’s exactly enough to express the scene.  I admire this style in part because I’m not very good at it.  In my own work I have no confidence about deciding what to include and what to leave out.
        The construction scene is certainly busier.  It reminds me of Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, which was published not too much later than this piece, in 1939.
        The next two pieces have, by contrast, more of a look of loneliness or solitude.  Lighthouses often tend to be isolated, and I like the way Marshall’s sky emphasizes the lands-end openness of the location.  The border of dark sky at the top also balances the dark land low in the picture.  The lighthouse is not the kind that’s usually considered picturesque, but its framework makes an interesting geometric pattern in silhouette against that spacious sky.
        Finally, here’s a “Construction Camp” that also emphasizes a wide sky, but this sky seems heavy.  Perhaps it’s just the grey paper, but it gives me almost a gothic vibe of hunkering down beneath a windswept drizzle.  I’d expect a construction camp to be busy, but this one looks deserted - perhaps everyone’s elsewhere, hard at work.  I also like the choices of cutting strokes that make up the hillside below the buildings, and the power line that ties them all together.
        All of these pieces are quite small, generally in the neighborhood of 3x4 or 4x5, and I like how much they express with their relatively simple lines and shapes.  Since they’re all from such a brief period in the artist’s life I now want to see whether I can find out what Marshall did later.
        And what are your feelings about orange ink?


[Pictures: Untitled holiday card, linocut by Charles Leroy Marshall Sr., 1931;

Albany City Hall, linocut by Marshall, ca. 1932;

Untitled (construction), linocut by Marshall, ca. 1932;

Light House at Marblehead, linocut by Marshall, 1929;

Construction Camp, linocut by Marshall, ca. 1933 (All images from Marianna Kistler Beach Museum of Art).]

October 1, 2025

Okapis and Nightingales

         I’m very excited to announce that two of my poems were published this month.  I’ll send you to the publications to read the poems, and today’s post is the background behind each of them.
        First, my poem “Okapis” appeared in 4LPH4NUM3R1C, episode 3, “Florid Fauna.”  The call was specifically for poems that are all about how they sound read aloud, and you can hear my poem as well as reading it here.  I was particularly excited to have this poem find a good home because it’s admittedly a bit of an oddity.  I wrote the first version back in 1996 as an exercise in playing with the sound of language.  I think I chose okapis as my subject primarily because I liked the sound of the word.  This is all about the alliteration and assonance, rhythm and repetition, and of course the use of luscious and lovely words like “languorous,” and “saunter.”  But yes, it’s also
a love poem to the mysterious and beautiful okapis, which have lots of wonderful traits including their gorgeously striped haunches and their indigo tongues.
        In 1998 I sketched okapi legs at the Harvard Museum of Natural History while I was on an assignment to collect things that attracted me, and for many years I had okapis on my list of things I’d like to make into a block print.  In 2024 I finally got around to it.  Meanwhile I had reworked my okapi poem, but there weren’t a lot of places to send it that seemed like a good fit.  It’s not deep, or emotional, or political, or even, despite the last line, philosophical!  But it pleases me, I’m so glad it pleased the editors of 4LPH4NUM3R1C, and I hope it pleases you.
        The second poem, “Jorinde Remembers,” was published in the September 29th issue of Strange Horizons.  In celebration of the magazine’s 25th anniversary they chose pieces with themes of memory and time for this issue, which you can read here.  I wrote this poem in April as part of my National Poetry Month poem-a-day practice.  It’s about “Jorinde and Joringel,” one of the lesser known (or perhaps medium-known) fairy tales collected by the Brothers Grimm.  For this I was not reimagining or changing any of the details of the story; rather I was imagining how it would really feel to live such an experience of being transformed into a nightingale.  If you’re not familiar with this fairy tale and want to read it, you can find it here.  For me much of the appeal of the fairy tale is the strange, melancholy atmosphere, and I wanted to keep that in my own poem.  I’m really proud that my poem found a place in such a wonderful magazine.
        As for the illustration, it’s a collage of two other block prints: the owl in the forest comes from my block print “Midnight,” and the castle comes from “Castle on a Bay.”  I collaged the two together to illustrate the lines “Until suddenly the castle walls loomed from the weird shadows / And the owl came circling three times with its nightfall wings.”  (The owl is the wicked witch in the fairy tale, but I pictured it as a creature of spiritual beauty in my original piece.  To be fair, the castle was subject to the same treatment: in the fairy tale it’s a cursed place, while my original block print depicts a place I have a great deal of affection for!  You can also read more about the block prints Midnight and Castle on a Bay in past blog posts.)  I created an illustration for this poem because it’s one that will be included in my upcoming book Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns.
        The Kickstarter campaign for Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns is over, but late pledges are now a thing on Kickstarter, so if you’re curious you should go check it out.  You can still get all the special pledge rewards if you want.


[Pictures: Okapis, rubber block print by AEGNydam, 2024 (image from NydamPrints.com);

Illustration for “Jorinde Remembers,” from rubber block prints by AEGNydam (Castle on a Bay at NydamPrints.com).]


September 26, 2025

Words of the Month - Keeping Count

        Our basic cardinal numbers are all based on Old English roots, which is not surprising.  After all, it’s the most basic words that tend to stick around in languages, rather than being subject to borrowings.  However, there are still a few interesting snippets to share about our words for numbers.
        One - Have you ever wondered about the odd pronunciation of one?  Why does it begin with a w sound instead of rhyming with alone, which indeed derives from “all one” (c. 1300)?  Other words that retain the original pronunciation in their “one” root include only and atone.  I can’t tell you why the w sound was added, but it seems to have begun as a dialect shift around the 14th century in southwest and west England.  It’s hard to trace its spread, since obviously the spelling came uncoupled with the pronunciation at some point.
        Two - While one has a w sound that’s not seen in the spelling, two has a w in the spelling but not heard in the pronunciation!  It used to be pronounced, as heard in twain, which is derived from the Old English masculine form of the number, while two derives from the feminine and neuter form.
        Eleven - This word derives from roots meaning “one left.”  Instead of forming 11 from “1 + 10” as many languages do, we’ve got something like “1 left = 11 - 10.”  This is quite unusual and in the whole world it appears only in Germanic languages and in Lithuanian, which uses it for all the teens.
        Twelve - Formed like eleven, this means “two left,” and also sounds that original w pronunciation of two.  But why does English, unlike Lithuanian, stop this system after twelve?  Probably because Old English originally had many elements of a duodecimal system, based on twelves instead of tens (as in inches to the foot, for example).  Old English had words that would have come down to us as eleventy (110) and twelfty (120) if we’d continued that system, but these words were already fading before Middle English.
        Dozen - This word for twelve, or specifically “a collection of 12 items or units” comes from Latin by way of Old French.  The Latin roots break down to “2 [+] 10” which is a more normal way to build in a decimal system.  Plus the -en ending is a French addition that indicates “exactly.”  Which means that, etymologically speaking, there’s something oxymoronic about a “baker’s dozen” being something other than “exactly 10 plus 2.”
        Thirteen - Here English gets into a more standard method of naming numbers.  (By the way, that shift of the placement of the r also happened in third.)  As for the -teen ending, that comes from the root for ten, but specifically indicates “ten more than.”  (Interestingly, the word teen, meaning “a person aged 13-19,” dates to 1818, although it was not in common use before the 20th century.  That means it came before the word teenager, which isn’t attested until 1922.)
        Twenty - This derives from two (and there’s that w again) and -ty, which means “a group of ten.”
        Score - Another later Old English word for 20, this comes from Old Norse meaning “notch, incision.”  This derives from the use of tally-marks for counting twenties.  Counting by twenties, as opposed to tens or twelves, is more common in Celtic cultures, so the speakers of Old English presumably adopted this concept from Celtic languages.  Our modern verb score, “to incise,” comes from this same root (but not until about 1400), as do all our various modern meanings of score such as “keeping track of the points in a game,” “a reckoning,” and even “printed piece of music,” from the sense of drawing all those lines.
        Hundred - The simple version of 100 in Old English was simply hund.  The -red piece comes from “reckoning, count.”
        Century - From Latin meaning “group of one hundred,” century used to mean 100 of anything.  Not until around the 1650s did it come to refer specifically to years.
        Thousand - The end of this word comes from the OE hund meaning “100.”  The thou- piece meant “huge, great, swollen.”  So a thousand was originally just a really big number.  It gained its more precise meaning when it was used as the English translation for Latin mille, meaning 1,000.
        Million - A similar logic built million out of mille (1,000) plus a suffix meaning “big, great.”  English got the word in the late 14th century from Old French, which got it from Latin, but it was used pretty much only by mathematicians for a couple of centuries before entering more common speech.
        Count - Also in the late 14th century from Old French, English gained the word count, meaning “to enumerate, or to assign numerals in order.”  It could also mean “to tell a story,” which we replaced in the late 15th century with recount.  (If you put the stress on the second syllable, you tell a story.  If you want to count again, you have to stress the first syllable.)  The sense of “being of value” appeared in the mid 19th century.
        So, that’s the word on English numbers!  Do you have a favorite number?  A lucky number?  Hate math, or love it?


[Pictures: One potato and Two eggplants, potato prints by Diana Pomeroy from One Potato, 1996;

11 goose eggs, multi-block linocut by Christopher Wormell from Teeth, Tails, and Tentacles, 2004.  More about these two books at prior post 5 Counting Books.]

September 22, 2025

Giving Legends and Folklore a Kick

         Here’s my fourth and final post digging into the contents of my Work In Progress, a collection of short stories, poems, and art currently being launched by a Kickstarter campaign (already fully funded, but running for one more week).  Today’s subject is the other category of stories I’ll be including: Other.  This is the category where I’ve collected work inspired by everything from a nursery rhyme to a Shakespeare play, and Egyptian funerary lore to the Mona Lisa.
        The idea of legends and fairy tales from other parts of the world is straightforward, and there are also the traditional, well-known legends that didn’t quite fit into my other categories, such as Aesop’s fables and the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.  But “folklore” is really an extremely broad category.  According to Wikipedia, “Folklore is the body of expressive culture shared by a particular group of people.  This includes tales, myths, legends, proverbs, poems, jokes, and other oral traditions.”  Another definition says “folklore is informally learned, unofficial knowledge about the world, ourselves, and our communities, our beliefs, our cultures, and our traditions that is expressed creatively through words, music, customs, actions, behaviors, and materials. It is also the interactive, dynamic process of creating, communicating, and performing as we share that knowledge with other people.”  For my purposes in Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns I’m not taking it quite that broadly, and I’m sticking with work that was inspired by or reimagining the sorts of folklore that are either widely known elements of my cultural background, such as the Mona Lisa, or stories that may not be widely known but are legends that have been collected and retold, such as the Green Children of Woolpit.  Here’s what I’ve got so far in this section of my book:
Scheherazade (poem)
The fable of the Sun and the North Wind (art)
The Hanging Gardens of Babylon (short story, art)
Ancient Egyptian Shabti (poem, art)
The Golem of Prague (art)
The Green Children (poem, art)
Mona Lisa (poem, art)
Oberon and Titania (short story)
The nursery rhyme Hey, Diddle Diddle (short story, art)
        I’ve also got a few other short stories that riff on traditional folklore motifs rather than specific stories: wicked witches, tricksters, and vegetable lambs and barnacle geese.
        As with the other categories, this line-up is still tentative.  I may create more short stories and poems, and I’ll certainly create more art.  I’ll also be looking at the balance of the book as a whole: how long it’s getting, whether each piece fits with the flow of the others, and so on.  This is the section that’s got the blurriest edges as far as what really fits the theme, but as with all the others, I’ve had a wonderful time using tidbits of story as my starting point, and then seeing where they take me.
        All of these stories - the myths, the fairy tales, the legends, the snippets of lore - are imagined by people grappling with the questions of life, making sense of the world, and then transmitting the ways they’ve made meaning.  When I reexamine and reimagine these same stories, I’m taking the places where past people’s answers don’t work for me, and creating stories that reflect my own sense of the world.  I’m also having fun simply spinning tales of wonder and magic.
        In fact, you could say that I’m having a ball, and the Kickstarter campaign, like Cinderella’s own enchantments, runs until the stroke of midnight (EDT) on Sept. 29.  I hope you’ll accept my invitation to the ball and check out Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns to see whether it looks like something you’d like to be part of.  I hope my stories will bring wonder to you, too.


[Pictures: details from The Dish Ran Away with the Spoon, by AEGNydam, 2025;

Shabti, rubber block reduction print by AEGNydam, 2025 (originals at NydamPrints.com).]

September 17, 2025

Giving the Bible a Kick

      This is my third post diving into the different sections of my next collection of short stories, poetry, and art, Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, which is being funded by a Kickstarter campaign this month.  The Bible (Hebrew Bible, Old and New Testament) is full of stories that, just like classical mythology and traditional fairy tales, are woven into the very fiber of European/Western culture, and appear as references, as proverbs, as characters “everyone” knows, etc.  Yet some people don’t think these stories belong in the same category as other myths and fairy tales.  Some people believe that the Bible’s stories are true or sacred in a way that makes them off-limits to any exploration.  Other people believe that any mention of Bible stories is an invasive attempt to proselytize.  Both groups may be offended by my inclusion of the Bible as a source of inspiration — One ought not to give the Bible a kick!  However, I believe that true faith is always questioning, and that anyone trying to figure out how to be a human in this world needs to be open to wrestling with the big questions that are raised by all these stories, regardless of their source.  For me, many of the stories in the Bible lead me to imagine, reimagine, and explore just like other legends, myths, folklore, and fairy tales.  Therefore, one of the sections in Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns is dedicated to short stories, poems, and art that are inspired by, riffing on, and jumping off from the Bible.
     Here’s what I’ve got so far:
Creation (short story, art)
Eve and the Apple (poem)
Cain and Abel (short story, art)
The Plagues of Egypt (short story)
The Judgement of Solomon (series of 5 poems)
Mary (poem about the end of her life, plus art of the nativity)
        So, I’ve stated my belief that the stories of the Bible are fair game for explorations, but I certainly do acknowledge the reality that there’s more sensitivity about this than about the other categories of stories.  I’m being a little more cautious about what to include here, and my short story about the Plagues of Egypt, for example, has a very big question mark beside it.  My version portrays the Biblical events as a sort of cage match between Yahweh and Amun-Ra, and it isn’t uniformly complimentary toward either god.  Does this push too far into blasphemy?  I’m the last person in the world to want to be deliberately offensive or controversial, and yet for me as a Christian the development of the relationship between humans and the Divine is absolutely one of the most important aspects of my own faith to explore.  (Of course, there’s also the perhaps even more important question of whether or not the story is a good story!)  I still have plenty of time to decide what to do about this, and I’ll presumably get some trusted advisors to weigh in on my work to help me figure it out, but it’s undeniable that I’m making decisions about this section rather more gingerly.
        What do you think about this tangle when present-day religions intertwine with fantasy?  How worried should one be about offending people?  And are there any religious stories that make you want to reimagine the narrative?
        And of course, check out the Kickstarter campaign for Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns to get the full scoop.


[Pictures: Behold, It Is Good teaser, details of short story and rubber block print by AEGNydam, 2021;

Madonna and Child, linoleum block print by AEGNydam, 1987.]

September 12, 2025

Giving Fairy Tales a Kick

        Continuing my series of posts about Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, (my upcoming collection of short stories, poetry, and art) today I’m focussing on fairy tales.  Unlike the Greek and Roman mythology I wrote about in the last post, I have loved fairy tales since childhood.  I’ve been writing my own fairy tales since at least age the age of 7 (see one at my post Staples and Crayons), but it was when I was 9 years old that I really started to go crazy with fairy tales.  I read every single fairy tale book in the relatively small library I had access to in Galway, Ireland, and then the following year I continued to read all the fairy tale anthologies in the much larger and better-stocked library in my home town of Cleveland Heights, Ohio.  It’s true that fairy tales can be dark, full of violence, sexism, stereotypes, and often unsatisfactory characterization and motivations, so why do I love fairy tales while disliking classical mythology?  Well, I’ll start by stating the perhaps-obvious point that I don’t like every fairy tale, but on the whole fairy tales hold up visions of agency and initiative, justice (if not always mercy), virtue rewarded, and Happy Endings.  (Compare that with classical mythology’s inexorable fate, arbitrary and selfish gods acting with impunity, and an awful lot of ever-compounding tragedy.)
        In my voracious reading of fairy tales throughout my childhood (and to this day) I was consuming stories collected from all around the world, but for this section of my own book I’m specifically looking at the traditional European fairy tales, and here’s what I’ve got in the draft of the book so far:
The Princess and the Pea (art)
Snow White (short story, artwork just sketched)
Sleeping Beauty (2 poems, a series of 13 poems, short story, art)
Rumpelstiltskin (short story, art just sketched)
Rapunzel (poem, art)
Jack and the Beanstalk (short story)
Jorinde and Joringel (poem - forthcoming in Strange Horizons!)
Baba Yaga (art)
        The really fun thing about taking inspiration from these classic tales is that I get to catch hold of the sparks that enchant me even in the midst of story elements that may be unreasonable or objectionable.  Do you have any favorite songs that you love even though the lyrics are problematic?  You love the music, the voice, the vibe, even though logically you can’t agree with the message in the words?  There are fairy tales like that for me.  “Sleeping Beauty” has always been one of my favorites not for the plot, but for the strange and beautiful setting of the enchanted castle falling asleep behind its mysterious hedge of thorns.  The descriptions in the Grimms’ version are wonderfully evocative in their specificity.  I love the music of the tale.  So I’ve found four different sparks within the fairy tale "Sleeping Beauty," and blown on them until they caught fire, and let them lead me in four different directions, all inspired by the magic of the traditional tale, but all unrelated to each other.  So much fun!
        While I’m on the topic of fairy tales, I’ll go on a bit of a tangent to note that they’re generally not taken very seriously as literature, and are often assumed to be children’s fare, which is actually quite absurd.  I have a theory that in the entire history of humankind there has been a period of only about one hundred years in which fantasy was treated as the province of children (and perhaps even worse, women!)  Tales of fantasy were told by and for adults through all the millennia of Gilgamesh and the Odyssey, Beowulf and King Arthur, the Thousand and One Nights and wicked stepmothers.  These stories were shared with children, but they were not thought childish.  Then the Enlightenment turned sensible adult (manly) thoughts toward logic and science, and Victorians invented the modern concept of childhood as a time of innocence before rationality took over, and bingo - the idea of fantasy was assigned to the realm of childhood.  We’re working our way back out of that attitude again now, and authors, critics, and readers are all starting to take speculative fiction much more seriously.  Within that very broad field, fairy tales are just one small corner, but they were probably my first introduction to fantasy and they retain an enduring resonance for me.  I hope my explorations and re-imaginings will find a resonance in you, too.
        The Kickstarter campaign to bring this book to life was fully funded in just one week, which means I can spend the rest of the campaign (it runs until Sept. 29) with all the excitement and none of the stress!  I’m enormously grateful to the fans who have believed in this project and backed it.  THANK YOU!  If you haven’t backed Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns yet, but think it might be of interest, by all means head over to Kickstarter and peruse all the details about the book and other fun rewards I’ve got planned.  I’d love to have you join the team that’s making it possible to bring this project to life.
        As for fairy tales, which are your favorites?  Do you have favorite motifs that reappear in many tales?  I’d love to hear which fairy tale sparks are most magical to you!


[Images: Sleeping Beauty teaser, details of poem and rubber block print by AEGNydam, 2017;

Illustration for Jorinde Remembers, collage from two rubber block prints by AEGNydam (including the castle from Castle on a Bay, which you can see at NydamPrints.com).]

September 8, 2025

Giving Classical Mythology a Kick

         The Kickstarter campaign for my next book, Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, is 74% funded, and it would be unreasonable for anyone to expect me to be able to think about anything else right now.  I’m so grateful to the backers who jumped right in to get me off to a strong start… but now we enter the knuckle-biting stage!  Yes, I’m optimistic that we’ll make it, but I won’t stop stressing until it’s 100%.  So until then, let me share some more teasers and tidbits.
        To recap, this book will be a collection of short stories, poems, and art, all of which are inspired by, riffing on, or jumping off from traditional fairy tales, myths, and folklore.  Today I’m digging a little deeper into the classical myths that have inspired pieces in my current draft.
        Here’s the funny thing about it: unlike fairy tales, I never really liked Greek and Roman mythology.  Primarily this was because all the gods and heroes just seem so unpleasant: always wrangling and jockeying to score status points, not to mention raping and murdering with impunity, while innocent humans are always the collateral damage.  How can you respect such a petty, vindictive bunch, let alone worshipping them?  But perhaps my dislike of these classical myths is precisely why I’ve ended up exploring and reimagining a number of them.  How would the stories change if I changed the way I thought of the characters and their motives?  How can I salvage a more interesting, meaningful message by holding the stories in a different light?  In the case of Persephone, for example, I’ve written both a story and a poem, but each one looks at a completely different angle of the myth, and takes it in a completely different direction to re-imagine it with a completely different message.
        Here’s what I’ve got so far:
Pandora’s Box (short story, art)
Persephone in the Underworld (short story, poem, art)
Medusa (poem, art)
Pygmalion and Galatea (short story)
The Theban Sphinx (poem, art)
Potnia Theron “Mistress of the Animals” (art)
Siren (short story)
Cyclops (art)
        That’s just where things stand as of today.  They’ll all have art eventually; the illustration for the siren’s story is sketched but not yet transferred to rubber and carved, and I haven’t started anything yet for Pygmalion.  Then there’s the weird sci fi idea I’ve been mulling for a while now about the Trojan Horse.  Perhaps that will get written in time for inclusion in the book — or perhaps there will be something else I haven’t thought of yet at all.  Who knows?
        How do you feel about these famous myths?  Do you have favorites — or least favorites?  They’re such a foundational part of European/Western culture that whether you like them or not, they’re in the air all around us.  Even though I don’t always care for the original myths, it turns out that I’ve really enjoyed reckoning with some of them, and allowing my imagination to see where they can take me, and where I can take them.  When Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns is finally completed and out in the world, I hope that my new twists will inspire you to rethink these myths and what they can tell us.
        To check out all the details about this project, please visit the Kickstarter campaign.  And if you should feel inspired to back this project, I’d be very grateful indeed!


[Pictures: Queen of the Underworld teaser, details of story and rubber block print with watercolor by AEGNydam, 2025 (See original at NydamPrints.com);

Apotropaic, rubber block print by AEGNydam, 2025 (Image from NydamPrints.com).]

September 3, 2025

Once Upon a Time There Was a Kickstarter...

         Here we go again!  I’ve launched another Kickstarter campaign for another book!  Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns will be the same format as my last book (Bittersweetness & Light), which means it’s a collection of my short stories, poems, and relief block print artwork.  All the stories in this book (and I consider poems and artwork as telling stories, too) are inspired by and riffing on traditional European fairy tales, classical mythology, and a smattering of other myths and folklore.  Sometimes I stay close to the traditional roots, and sometimes I use them as a jumping off point to head in a completely different direction.  But why start with these well-known stories?  Myths and fairy tales are popular, powerful, sticky stories that catch in our imaginations and stay with us for generation after generation.  Although they may not always be taken very seriously as literature these days, the fact is that folklore has always been one of the most important ways people have wrestled with what it means to be alive in the world.  They help us grapple with big issues and explain to ourselves why things are the way they are, and how things should be.  Folklore includes the way culture is embodied in stories, and the way stories express what it means to be human.
        I’ve always been fascinated by fairy tales (you can read some prior posts about Some Favorite Fairy Tales and Grimms’ Fairy Tale Collections) but there’s no denying that some of them are strange and dark and problematic.  There are stories I fell in love with that fill me with delight and fuel my imagination of wondrous things, but there are also stories that disturb and depress me with their oppressive, cynical, outdated messages.  In either case, though, they can get me thinking about the things I believe are true.  And they can get me questioning how a story that doesn’t seem right to me might be reimagined into something that does ring more true.  What else might be going on before, after, and around the edges?  How else might events be interpreted?  What if one little thing were changed - or a larger thing?  What if it were all set in a different time or place?  Why might these strange or disturbing things have happened?  Who else might be living in this world and watching events unfold?  How can I glean out the unexpected sparks of magic while overturning those elements that I reject?  After all, another reason these stories have stayed popular for so long is that they’re multi-layered and multi-faceted.  Every time you look at them from a different angle, you see something new.
        Want some examples of what will be appearing in Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns?  Here are a few teasers…

Pandora’s Box - What’s so bad about curiosity, anyway?

Baba Yaga - Maybe it takes a flock to raise a witch.

The Green Girl Thinks of Home

Scheherazade - Prayer for the first night.

        I’ve been responding to these magical stories for a long time, and now I’m pulling it all together and offering it as a collection of wonder and delight.  It’ll be printed in full color inside and out, a little larger than an ordinary paperback to give the artwork more room.  It won’t be as explicitly focused on hope and joy as my last book, but it’s still me here, so yes, I still try to hold up the power of kindness and look for ways to foster hope and joy.  Fairy tales can be dark and myths can be cruel, but these stories are ultimately how we remind ourselves that straw can be spun into gold, riddles can be answered, curses can be broken, and glass mountains can be climbed.
        If this sounds like something that might be of interest to you, nip on over to my Kickstarter campaign and find out all the details.  I’d love to have you join me in bringing these old stories to new life!


[Picture: Beyond Pomegranate & Thorns, working cover design by AEGNydam, 2025.]

August 29, 2025

Words of the Month - Lipstick of the Spheres?

         What do cosmetics have to do with the cosmos?  They share a Greek root, but took very different paths into modern English.  The Greek kosmos meant “an orderly arrangement,” and the verb form of the same word was used in different senses including arranging troops for battle, establishing governments, and also adorning and arranging women’s dress, hair, and appearance.  It’s easy to see how that last sense got us to our modern cosmetics.
        Meanwhile, the sense of an organized system gave the word kosmos the meaning of  “the universe.”  Pythagorus was credited with being the first to use the word to mean “the starry firmament,” and it was first used in Middle English in about 1200.  However, our modern sense of cosmos as “the universe as a model of order” didn’t really take off in English until the mid 1800s, when it was used in English
translations of Alexander von Humboldt’s masterwork Kosmos.
        Between Pythagorus and Humboldt, meanwhile, the meaning of kosmos was expanding to include Earth in addition to the heavens.  It was then sometimes used in Christian writings to refer to “the inhabited earth” or “the worldly life, as opposed to the afterlife/heaven.”  That shift in meaning tied in with the word cosmopolite, which came from the Latinized Greek for “citizen of the world.”  That word entered English around 1610, but not until about 200 years later do we get the adjective cosmopolitan, meaning “free from local prejudices,” and around 1840 it could also be applied to groups and mean “composed of people from many nations, multi-ethnic.”
        As for the cocktail cosmopolitan, that was apparently invented in the 1970s, but, just like the word cosmos, it took a celebrity to popularize it.  In this case, rather than Pythagorus or Humboldt, we have the television show “Sex and the City” to thank, in the 1990s.  And that, I might argue, brings us back full circle to the connection with adorning and arranging women’s appearance.


[Pictures: Young Woman Applying Rouge, color woodblock by Hishiguchi Goyô, 1920 (Image from Art Institute Chicago);

Cosmogony, woodcut by Victor Delhez, 1926 (Image from Armstrong Fine Art);

In Cafe II, linocut by Marta Wakula-Mac (Image from Saatchi Art).]

August 25, 2025

Daughter-in-Law C. Yoshida (and Granddaughter A.)

         I’m not finished with the Yoshida family yet.  Today I’m focusing on Hiroshi and Fujio’s daughter-in-law, wife of their younger son Hodaka.  Chizuko Yoshida (Japan, 1924-2017) joined three art associations when she was in her twenties.  One was a painting society founded by Hiroshi Yoshida, a second was a group for women oil painters founded by Fujio Yoshida, and the third was an avant-garde association in which Chizuko became interested in the push and pull between Western modernism and traditional Japanese aesthetics.  After she married Hodaka in 1953, around the time she was switching from painting to printmaking, she was influential in getting him involved in modernism, which also eventually influenced the work of Fujio and of Hodaka’s brother Tōshi.
        By way of choosing which pieces to share today, I wanted to post my favorites, but I also wanted to show the sweep of Chizuko’s various styles over time, which meant including some pieces I don’t actually care for.  So I’ve started with two pieces from the 1950’s, the first being one that I like a bit more, and the second being one that’s more representative of her early woodblock work, which tends to look to me like a lot of random stuff thrown together.
        Next, here’s a piece from the 1960s, during which Chizuko was doing a lot of work with embossing.  These don’t excite me, although I do feel the allure of embossing - especially since that’s one thing that rubber blocks and the back of a wooden spoon just can’t do.  You can see, though, that Chizuko was doing her own version of op art, which you can compare with some of the pieces I shared from her husband and her brother-in-law.
        These final two pieces date from the 1970s and are the ones I find most attractive.  I’m very partial to collections of natural forms that evoke both science and art.  However, to get that scientific detail of all different species of shells and butterflies, Chizuko used a combination of photoetching and woodblock printing, a combination Hodaka was also using extensively (although he was depicting primarily manmade, architectural images, rather than natural ones).  So even though I like these as art, I’m much less interested in them from a printmaking perspective, because photoetching sort of skips the actual physical creation part, which I love.  On the other hand, I wanted to include them as representative of some of Chizuko’s later work.  (Chizuko made a whole series of butterfly pieces over a long period, and I can certainly see why they’re popular.)  I also really like that today’s first piece and last piece, made more than 25 years apart, both represent blue butterflies.
        Finally, I want to include a piece by Chizuko and Hodaka’s daughter Ayomi Yoshida (Japan, b. 1958) who is also an artist.  Ayomi doesn’t get a whole post of her own because I don’t for the most part care for her work, (and later she also got into “deconstructing” block printing by making installations of blocks and chips, which interests me only to the extent that it irritates me as a waste of a wonderful medium!)  However, Ayomi certainly belongs in any discussion of this famous printmaking family, so I include one piece from 1989 that’s pretty cool.  All the gouges are pretty much the same - one tool, same direction, same size - but the arrangement and colors turn it into light on water.  You can see an op art influence in this, too.
        So, seven artists over 4 generations in one family - and each of them pushing and pulling to find their own voice and style.  It must be both encouraging and constraining to be surrounded by so much artistic inspiration, advice, support, and opinion.


[Pictures: Butterfly B, woodblock print by Chizuko Yoshida, 1953 (Image from Asian Art Museum);

Night in the Desert, woodblock print by C. Yoshida, 1959 (Image from Art Institute Chicago);

Blue Line, woodblock print by C. Yoshida, 1960s (Image from MFA Boston);

Reef, Shell C, photoetching and woodblock print by C. Yoshida, 1976 (Image from The British Museum);

Valley of Butterflies, photoetching and woodblock print by C. Yoshida, 1979 (Image from Art Institute Chicago);

Touches 2W -C.V.B., woodblock print by Ayomi Yoshida, 1989 (Image from Art Institute Chicago).]