A couple of years ago, I wrote a handful of poems about books. One of them was written following a visit I made to an exhibit of artists' books. Here it is:
At the Book Museum by Kelly Fineman
A book of metal, shaped like wings
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The one I saw was a few years ago at the National Museum of Women in the Arts in D.C. - they currently have an exhibit on The Book as Sculpture, a bunch of artists' books that blur the lines between book and statuary.
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Pictures in the imagery and pictures in the very words chosen.
So, it's like her art is best displayed when you can see the painting, the easel and the palette!
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