A Storey Tarris UK Art Project
The third book in the collaboration is now online. The book is available in paperback and in Kindle format.
The artists made a change to their work style and decided to edit SINK to make SINK version II so they could collage SINK. RAGs is shorter than expected because of this editorial change. Instead of 12 weeks, the book includes 6.5 weeks.
The collaged version of SINK will be online in June 2024. Here is an image of what the collaged version of SINK will look like:
We made some changes in April to our book series so we are editing SINK.
While editing book II, working title RAGs, we realised we forgot to do the word count on the poems in book I.
After checking the word count for each poem, we decided to take out the full stops and with the full stops some capital letters and font sizes that were too small or too big.
The images for book one stay the same, but we are moving some pages around and may add one or two images.
We are keeping the books in A4 format.
Morning alone on the line
Ringing Zip Zip Zip Zap
Impossible Woman's life
means I mean something.
Excuses scrubbed history,
Starched and pressed thursday
creased down the middle.
By Emmy Horstkamp 7/3/2024
Advice waiting somewhere in the morning airwaves.
Examples of disinterest not telltale, just peek at the monitors.
Nothing is open to debate. Faux pas filled data doses transfer morning to assistance needed.
Exclude anything that might be red boxed.
by Emmy Horstkamp 26.2.2024
Recasting a life with Fenzeit and smack.
Gamefree dashing through half squares,
swiping flying starts - takeoff.
Ideal morning start signalled on train platform.
Recharged steps launching up and over the bridge walk.
by Emmy Horstkamp 23/2/2024
Buildings on standby - archiving by brick and colour. Life to 47 passes by -what happened in 48. How long do I have bricklayer? My photos archive the bricks and colours Will you let me write down on paper, The story facades of today?
Architecture from someplace or another elsewhere. Cracks between the clouds, five to seven everyone is there waiting, everything stayed,for something. Moments ceased over the weekenders, paused, sitting tight, lying low. Now, holding phones, looking for Monday morning's push. By Emmy Horstkamp 12/2/2024
This morning I wrote four poems. The poem above is from the longer Storeyean poem.
Because my commute was longer, I left some of the calendars at home and decided to write those poems in my regular notebook. All of the photographs for the poems will be printed on stamped later in the week.
Today transformed into a sunny day.
Can we start the OTHER one?
A rainy friday morning impression.
Sight and faces again contoured.
by Emmy Horstkamp
Informal eight Commute
full of noise and bikes;
Looselipped conversations.
by Emmy Horstkamp
This morning, I commuted to work three hours later than usual. The crowd at the later time is different. The commuters sat together and talked during the trip, a little like the early afternoon commute.
They talked about work and other things which happened the day before or that day. I heard their words while standing near a bunch of foldable bikes. Someone was talking about the bikes and saying that if the queen stood next to a bike, the person might lose the bike if she stood by a bike, the bike could possibly be hers. So if the queen was standing like I was next to his or her bike, the owner of the bike would have to wait to see if the queen walked off the train with the bike or asked him to assemble the bike and then rode off on it.
I realised after hearing this conversation that there is a little bit of risk owning things in the United Kingdom. People of the Aristocracy or the Monarchy could ruin your commuter day by just liking your bike and inferring that they want it.
I promise the universe that if I want a second bike, I will go to the store and buy it. I will never take a bike away from someone except in an emergency, and then I would pay you for it. Promise.
No crying eyes ok.
Maybe it’s raining.
The wind blowing at the office building,
“Water damage,” said the guard.
by Emmy Horstkamp
The waves from the Thames
Pigeons fluffed on the walkway
Cobblestone bypass.
by Emmy Horstkamp
The poems above were written while walking to an office along the Thames. The walk between one office space and another took me past the Tate where a group of birds were sleeping on the onramp to the bridge. I walked as quietly as I could around them. The group of twenty fluffled their feathers but did not walk or fly away.
This area of London is quiet before eight and I walked to London Bridge without having to stop.