damp

 A great cloud hangs over Northampton this week.  

damp steals in while we sleep; damp is silent, imperceptible, ubiquitous. Damp swells the wood, furs the kettle, rusts the iron, rots the stone.  So gradual is the process, that it is not until we pick up some chest of drawers, or coal scuttle, and the whole thing drops to pieces in our hands, that we suspect even the the disease is at work.”  

from Virginia Woolf’s Orlando. for now while i’ve forgotten about the ‘to-do’s’ i’m content to gather myself inside with baby bird, quiet John with eyelashes down into his book and some weak coffee.

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About scoutcuomo

Charcoal dust and eraser shavings, oil bars and sketch books, wood, gold pray paint, resin, overly soft blankets, and turpentine, feathers and coffee grinds.

One comment

  1. David

    Ah, Virginia! And that evolving Orlando; kind of like V’s description of damp/fog–it is itself but not itself until you notice both. Her words about the damp are like your sketches, and your title: “smoke” and how it can twist and seep and pervade everywhere but isn’t really anywhere.
    I like that soft note of contentment you hit: to be with the ordinary things of a day.
    How about more of your art work!?

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