This unbound altered book was created for the ‘Poe’ call for art challenge at Somerset Studios magazine. Spending over three months on this project from concept to completion, I researched the life of Edgar Allen Poe, as well as analyses of his poetry and writing. The art changed and developed before my eyes becoming truly a labor of love. Thank you to my friend Linda Malcolm at Lost Cost Designs for the use of her stamps.
INTERTWINED by Cherri Robb an unbound altered book ….
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore …
“Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door –
Only this, and nothing more.”
The poetic story of “The Raven” and the tragic life of its short-lived author, Edgar Allen Poe, are intertwined, if not synonymous in life and death.
Suffering the loss of his Mother at only age 2, he struggled within his foster family and then with his writing career. He lost his foster mother at age 20, his grandmother at age 26 and then his wife, Virginia, at age 38 … dyeing only two and half years later himself. The loss of the women he loved was tragically told between the lines of his poetry … was the unknown author within “The Raven” actually Poe himself, or could the beastly Raven be a manifestation of Poe? “The Raven” was written during the period of his wife’s illness with tuberculosis while Poe drank heavily under the stress. My art for this Somerset Studios challenge, titled “Intertwined”, combines both the story of “The Raven” and the life of Edgar Allen Poe. (ref http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edgar_Allan_Poe)
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
of the countenance it wore … By the grave and stern decorum
I said … “Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” –
Merely this and nothing more.
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour …
“On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”
“Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, And take thy form from off my door!”
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