So I've been spending heaps of time lately, both at work and at home, riffling yellowed pages.
At work, we're preparing for the publication of a book of L.B. Foote photos, introduced and prepared by historian Esyllt Jones.
The pic on the left is from a quick visit we made to the Archives of Manitoba to look at Foote's notebooks, clippings and ledgers...in addition to the nearly 3,000 images they have in the Foote Collection.
Given that Foote documented Winnipeg and environs for nearly five decades, it's clear that the 3,000 images at the archives can only constitute a fraction of the photos he shot.
So we've issued a call to the public so that we might unearth some of the 'lost' Foote photos. And I've started a blog to document this process, which means that I've been thinking about photographs and ephemera and Winnipeg history on someone else's dime.
Which is really best-case scenario for me...of course, I'm tempted to start writing poems to some of the pics, but I need to get more work done on my solely-neglected manuscripts before I even think about taking on a new project.
Speaking of which, the pic on the right was taken at the end of a writing day, just before I reluctantly put everything away and started dinner. They're Edison biographies, the earliest of which is from 1929 and the latest 1989, and I've been rooting around, trying to build a timeline from the conflicting accounts of a minor character...
...who's a major character for me, of course. A main witness.
This is the most rudderless I've ever been, writing wise. Usually, I write poems and then I edit them. With this work, I've been reading and reading and scribbling, but nothing that resembles a poem.
But they might eventually resemble a poem or several poems. And for now, that's enough...