Hello, I'm Jeremy Beaudry. Welcome to my place. Words, photos, drawings et cetera.*

I do not know them. But my hand and my pen do.

Buried in the pixel grid of every photo library are accidents. Errant screenshots, 1-second oops videos, grainy blackness, canted and blurred apparitions. Digital stains, maybe. The best of these are like dreamscape stills from a David Lynch film. In their familiar non-specificity, they are uncanny, revealing those spirits hiding beneath the mundane. The unintentional pretends intention, suggesting artistry, a human touch. They are painterly, formally exciting in the diagonal. Open your photo library. Slowly scroll. Find those thumbnails that register as not quite right, the throw-aways. Set them apart, push the contrast or pull the saturation. Give them an evocative, perhaps provocative, title. Sign your name. They are readymade.

Again
adrift this crisp
oak leaf

Tawny and glossed
down on the cold
wind

Under duress of
bitter directionlessness
rise and

Fall of no current
than can be called
to account

I aim for the warming rock

Landmark
in the meadow hope
for solar gain

Finger bowls of
rainwater and pine
tannin reserves

I twirl the leaf between
index and
thumb and

Spinning, spinning
lay down
on the rock

Still
in the winter sun
to wait for

What I did was: collage together a few drawings from the past months and a recent poem into a micro-zine. Sketchbook, scanner, laptop, printer, scissors, paper, glue stick, typewriter. Analog to digital and back. Fold paper, drag a fingernail across the crease to sharpen the edge.

What I did was: distractedly flip through pages of my sketchbook — a memory palace (farmhouse?) — remember the days and the circumstances, the people and events, the entanglements, the relationships. Here, an image that showed me something unseen; and there, words that said more than I intended.

Dear Friends, I hope you are well. I hope you have some thing, some body to hold onto. Hold tight, but not so tight that you miss the serendipity of unexpected adventures and connections! Remember: THE WORLD IS BOUND WITH SECRET KNOTS.

Ring of silver flashes on
the black skin of the still river
bone rattle the king fisher
and the song birds harken

the first light of today
a thousand greens unfold
across the hollow
sunrise modest behind

the faint wisp of cloud
gold dust on the conifer branches
sparkled with night dew
in a moment the sun fires

its ray — direct hit to
pupil, retina, brain
obliterate all other time
and sense

the afterimage written for
a moment on the back of
my skull like a thumbprint
on a window

then change again
and again

how will I change today

O separation
through trees
of cracked season

You mysterious FORTRESS

Streets of Lisboa
of São Martinho do Porto
of Óbidos
of Nazaré

overlay anthropic order
onto old geology, stone upon stone
settled, as in settlement

hands and tools smooth stucco
paint sunlight and shadow
yellow, pink, blue

a million black and white blocks
sand mortared and solid along
the paths and tracks of intention

we tread, slide
always to the sea
to rock and sand

to crash and wave
to setting sun and
the Portuguese Atlantis