Growing up, I had a print in my bedroom:
As it turns out, this print comes from marginalia from a poem by Jack Spicer:
A white rabbit absolutely outlined in whiteness upon a black background
We can say or think about it is it stays.
In a closet we wear like a ring on our fingers
Ghost of them
Most of what we knew
Here is the note:
Rabbits do not know what they are. Ghosts are very similar.
They are frightened and do not know what they are,
but they can go where rabbits cannot. All the way to the heart.
I have become rather fascinated with this little poem. And it may be the fodder for a new body of work. I am embroidering rabbits, thinking about ghosts. Playing music on harmonium and flute for both creatures.