pawing backwards through the sedimentary layers by Judith Wray

  • Where do I begin? A carved telephone book? leather bound, “let your fingers do the walking” went an old ad for the yellow pages… These pages illustrate a transition Laci’s fingers holding the key and my head! We caste his feet first in bronze then moved on to his fingers and his ear.
  • Later, we would laugh about having a group show.
  • Judy Wray & Laszlo Krisch Laci taught me a new medium. He introduced me to computers and showed me how to write html. I am still learning! This story was first created 20 years ago on my website. That is where I got the photos from as the bread eventually disintegrated. My daughter has the YellowPages head and hand, miles away. It is hard holding onto things. Memories are lighter!
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  • No one had ever baked a loaf of bread for me before. Laci loves to cook. He was baking bread and had enough dough for two loaves. He made his loaf first, all neat and straight and orderly. Then he came to mine, and made mine in many sections, all wild and crazy. When he presented it to me, all hot and brown and crusty and smelling wonderful, I wanted to do something more than eat it.
  • Commemorate it!
  • The Poem by Thoreau “We must learn to re-awaken and keep ourselves awake Not by mechanical aids, but by the infinite expectation of the dawn which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor. It is something to be able to paint a particular picture or to carve a statue and so to make a few things beautiful. But it is far more glorious to carve and paint the atmosphere and medium through which we look. Which morally we can do. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts. Everyman is tasked to make his life even in its details worthy of the contemplation of his most elevated and critical hour.”
  • Thoreau
  • The blood red story behind the bread.. This is actually important to me.. the way that art works. The way it does not matter 2 cents that Thoreau is dead or not. Art lies dormant waiting to snare. The poem by Thoreau was on a tea box above our stove for years, till one day, reaching up, the words grabbed me by the throat. The grants people always make me laugh and cry, they ask questions like “how many people were affected by the artist on such and such a day, (to justify their giving of funding). I remember once I was at a copying business, busily copying, and I looked out the window to the train station across the street. There was a billboard. Rolling Rock Beer was being advertised.. but more than that.. Jim Morrison was talking. Jim Morrison was dead (The Door’s) “Same as it always was” was what was written.. but it was not written the same as it always was, and the whole experience was an art experience one did not go into a museum for, dressed, prepared, ready to be enlightened. Art is a funny thing. I don’t like commerce, the selling of art but I do like the way death doesn’t have to stop anything.
  • Kind of makes life worth living.

Originally published at

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