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Essays

Past Lives
by Joan Murray

Creative Meaning-making
by Tara Hyland

Home/bodies
by Carolyn Langill

Fairy Tales and Family Fables
by Tara Hyland-Russell

Sometimes You've Got to Wake Up the Frog
by Tara Hyland-Russell




Past Lives
Joan Murray

Written in 1998, when Joan Murray was the Director of the Robert McLaughlin Gallery, in Oshawa, for the exhibition, NOW i KNOW HOW TO BE A GOOD GiRL.*

Used with permission of Joan Murray.

*This exhibition title came from Rohja Lawrence, in response to seeing some of this work.

Memoirs of the time before you were born, written by your parents, can be enlightening. These strangers, who knew nothing of you—who lived without you—became your mother and father, but seem very different from the parents you are used to. Circumstance is partly to blame for this: the woman who preferred a solitary existance can find herself married, the man who disliked children can find himself a father. Artists who are women find a special edge to their interest in reading the journals of their mothers, especially those who had mothers who were also artists, because so many women artists of an earlier day were doomed to financial failure.

Lise Melhorn-Boe was born in 1955 in Rouyn-Noranda, a mining town in northwestern Québec. She grew up in a creative household: her mother was an abstract painter, Pauline Gillmore Meilman, who in 1954 married Kurt Melhorn, an electrical contractor, and moved north. Melhorn-Boe, the eldest of three daughters, showed artistic talent at an early age. After courses in architecture at Carleton University, she took printmaking at the University of Guelph, and from 1981 to 1984 studied for her Master of Fine Arts in Fibre at Wayne State University in Detroit. Then, with the support of her mother, who bought her first works and paid her studio rent, she hit the Toronto scene, met and married musician David Boe, and in 1990 moved to North Bay, where she lives today. At the same time, she produced a remarkably affecting body of work based on her feminist insights and a formal inventiveness, often involved with book-making. Her printed material might be in multiples or single works; but always the result reflected her delight in the handling of unpretentious materials. What counted was her touch; she maintained a finely graded technical ability with an oddly elusive sensibility that could veer, in one and the same moment, from the subtle to the boldly evocative. Through her work, she gestured with winsome irony toward the wider culture while confirming her citizenship in the little nation of art. A book, for Melhorn-Boe, could be of the widest possible application: Hairy Legs (1982, edition of 10) featured loose paper pages in the shape of life-size legs and, on the cover, a hand-spun raimie and hair stocking held closed by garters; in Marilyn’s Grandma (1993), she hand-printed (on flannel pages) a story from a friend, and “illustrated” it with hair rollers and pin curlers, hair nets, baby doll pyjamas, nightgowns and pillow embroidery. The stories Melhorn-Boe likes to use are narratives from real life, her own and others’ (often collected through questionnaires) as in the work she entitled Wandering Foot (Migration) (1993) in which she used the wandering foot pattern of traditional quiltmaking, sewn onto the reverse side of cloth maps of Canada. The quirky part comes on the backs of the blocks where, in ink, she wrote the stories of women who had to move because of their husbands’ jobs; the blocks are attached in an erratically unfolding shape, like a well-used or torn road map.

Melhorn-Boe had long known of her mother’s habit of keeping a journal; she often talked about them, saying that she was gathering information for a novel about her husband, but that she did not want to hurt his feelings so she was waiting till after his death to write it. But only after her mother’s death in 1990 did she read the journals to which her mother had confided her true feelings. Melhorn-Boe began to reclaim her own life then, seeing it through her mother’s eyes, in her mother’s own writings. Saddest of all, were her mother’s words about her life, especially about the things she was not doing, but wished that she could—painting and writing poetry and short stories. She was an unhappy housewife, and her personal narrative covered the area of unfulfilled desire. To these imaginings and laments written by her mother, Melhorn-Boe gave an appropriate form—reproductions in sheer nylon of articles of clothing her mother had worn; inside each garment, she hung a panel with a black, rubber-stamped text she had taken from her mother’s account corresponding in date to the period of the dress. On the teenager’s dress (around 1940), for instance, she wrote, “I wanted to go to art school but my father said, ‘Foolishness! You'll never be able to earn your living that way.’”

As with any everyday object taken out of context, these garments, hung in a line, carry a suggestion of human life, not least because they serve as body surrogates. The words shift and waver, gathering shadows, and where the fabric folds, giving a moiré effect, they overlap, playing on top of one another. Through the eight parts of Ghost Costumes: Pauline, Melhorn-Boe records the evidence rather than washing it away, almost as though the words had become a from of progressive memory.

The work of Melhorn-Boe has been interpreted through highly publicized lenses, including that of feminist theoretical analysis. Surely its power stems from its evocation of absense and the losses that accompany memory; it recalls our own mortality, our sadness at the finite nature of our parents’ lives, and the unknown ghosts at whose bidding we live. Ghost Costumes: Pauline and her other bookworks marry the personal and the political, and give meaningful expression to the disenchantments of married life.




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Past Lives
by Joan Murray

Creative Meaning-making
by Tara Hyland

Home/bodies
by Carolyn Langill

Fairy Tales and Family Fables
by Tara Hyland-Russell

Sometimes You've Got to Wake Up the Frog
by Tara Hyland-Russell




Creative Meaning-making: Reading the Bookworks of Lise Melhorn-Boe
Tara Hyland

Written by Tara Hyland in 1998. Published in the Journal of Artists' Books, JAB 11, Spring 1999.

Tara Hyland-Russell is an Assistant Professor of English at St. Mary's College. She holds a Joint H.B.A. from the University of Waterloo, an M.A. from Wilfrid Laurier University and a Ph.D. from the University of Calgary.

Used with permission of Dr. Hyland-Russell. She may be contacted at: tara[dot]hyland-russell[at]stmc[dot]ab[dot]ca

Lise Melhorn-Boe is a contemporary Canadian artist who produces what she terms bookworks: original meldings of textiles, texts, and the book form. Produced as single works or in limited editions ranging from one to 750 books per edition, Melhorn-Boe’s creations use the book form to create an accessible site of interface between the voices in the text and the reader. The bookworks range in size, form, and material from round, palm-sized circlets of paper enclosed in a powder puff box (Powder Puff Pink) to large, life-size plywood cutouts of women, clothed in aprons and rubber gloves and inscribed with lime green text (Bound by Convention 2). Melhorn-Boe gathers her texts from other women through questionnaires, journals, and letters, and juxtaposes them within her work to interrogate the traditional socialization of women. A powerful theme running through much of her work is the list of “shoulds” and “should nots” which have been transmitted to generations of women through family, media, education, and religion.

One of the most prominent aspects of Melhorn-Boe’s work is tension: dynamic tension in her bookworks; tension evoked between the works and the reader; and tension evoked within the reader herself. These tensions simultaneously are intensified and transformed as the texts reflect and refract images to the reader in a process that has the potential to disrupt patriarchal discourses and to initiate new dialogues for women. As I explored Melhorn-Boe’s work, I became aware of these multiple tensions and of their dynamic interaction. I was reminded of Teresa de Lauretis’ notion of a consciousness of self as a “particular configuration of subjectivity, or subjective limits, produced at the intersection of meaning and experience”.1 De Lauretis deliberately uses the term “consciousness of self” to imply a fluid, continuous process of development and change, rather than the term “identity” which implies stasis and stability. De Lauretis’ conceptualization of the process of self as a result of the conjunction of meaning and experience became a helpful way to understand Melhorn-Boe’s works as producing sites in which the reader is positioned to question her own process of self-consciousness in relation to the voices of the women in the text. Melhorn-Boe’s configuration of contradictory voices juxtaposed within works that challenge art and text forms places the reader in a matrix where various meanings and experience collide, creating new models for individual women and for communities of women.

Melhorn-Boe crosses the boundaries of bookmaker, writer, and sculptor, causing, in the words of one reviewer, a categorical crisis for the cataloguers at the National Library of Canada.2 These works can also cause the reader to stumble over the genre of these works. Yet, even putting aside the question of category and genre, (for, after all, why must we slot a work into a particular hole?) these works are still troubling. How does one read these works? As art, as literature, as multi-media installation, or as all three? As a student of literature, at first my attention is drawn to textual representations, although not to the exclusion of the non-textual. But in these pieces the form, the materials, and the iconic elements are integral to an understanding of the work. In the process of learning how to read these works, I discovered many levels of tension—tensions created through the process of reading and tensions inherent in the works themselves.

September 23, 1997: Special Collections, MacKimmie Library, The University of Calgary: Today in class we made a “field trip” to Special Collections at the university. The librarian had spread out an assortment of archival materials on the tables around the room. After an introduction to the services of special collections, we were invited to look at the materials—small press journals, rare manuscripts, diaries, correspondence, broadsheets… We weren’t quite sure even how to handle some of the materials. They were bulky and big, some of them, awkward to turn the leaves, yet beautiful. Somehow the words seemed more important than they might have if they were in, say, a Norton’s Anthology. They accrued some rarity, simply by being in Special Collections. Some of the paper was stunning—ragged edges, thick and luxurious. Why can’t all books be so beautiful? One grouping caught my eye. Something called “bookworks”, text printed or photocopied on a reproduction of a corset and then rolled up in a long, thin box; oval sheets of paper in a box made of a cast of the artist’s face. And the artist/writer—Lise Melhorn-Boe—I know her name. These works are calling me. Inviting me.

Linda Hutcheon, in her discussion of postmodern forms, says, “[a] postmodern artist or writer is in the position of a philosopher: the text he writes, the work he produces are not in principle governed by pre-established rules, and they cannot be judged according to a determining judgment, by applying familiar categories to the text or to the work. Those rules and categories are what the work of art itself is looking for”.3 Melhorn-Boe is a quintessential postmodern artist—blending art and text forms, refusing to reduce her works to a single meaning, opening the meaning-making of texts to the reader. The first task of a reader coming to Melhorn-Boe’s works is learning how to read them.

October 9, 1997: I’m back in Special Collections looking at Lise’s bookworks. I’ve picked “Colour Me Dutiful” to examine first because I want to see and touch the face on the box. It was in a glass display case the last time I was here and I couldn’t get very close to it. I couldn’t see what was in the box. The librarian brings me the piece and a pair of white cotton gloves. I can’t help but wonder what Lise would make of this, as I turn the pages carefully, aware of the conservationist nature of my use of the gloves, feeling separated from the work and its real purpose. Purpose? What purpose? Here I am, hardly into this work and I’m looking for a purpose, a statement, maybe even a political agenda. Why? Is it because the work evokes that response in me or is it because I want to find a deep meaning, because I have been taught to read that way?

Colour Me Dutiful is a small handmade oval box, the cover of which is a cast of the artist’s face. Inside, text is printed on face-shaped peach rag papers to resemble makeup: black letters outline eyebrows, blue letters the eyeshadow, pink the blush and red a bow-shaped mouth. The flattened iconic representation of a feminine face, with empty eyes rimmed in eyeliner, coupled with a cupid’s mouth cheerily outlined in red, creates the impression of a vacuous feminine form. Conditioned to read in certain ways, I look for patterns to understand this text. Because of the configuration of the words, split along the vertical axis of the page, I start to read the text as if it were in stanzas. I begin to read down the left side of the page:

AT AGE 14, I
PENCIL, BECAUSE I
THE REST I START.4

This does not make much sense. I begin to read across the page, conscious of the textual lacunae between the left-hand facial features and those on the right. Feeling like I am deliberately reading across the grain, I mentally leap over the breaks in the mid-line of the face and read the text from left to right. The syntactical slippage caused through the textual gap and through broken words—“start. ed”; “encourag- ed”—creates an effect of stuttering, and a sense of alienation between the words and the social discourses of family, school, and peers they represent. The effect is to distance the text from its anchoring conventions, thus opening a small gap for the reader to question those underlying conventions.

At first reading, I read page one as written by a single voice, the artist’s I assume. It only becomes apparent after several pages that the text represents voices of various women with different stories to tell about their initiation into the world of makeup:

“I STARTED IN GRADE 11, I WORE VERY LITTLE THEN AND I’M NOT EVEN SURE MY PARENTS NOTICED” (p.3);
“MY HANDS SLIPPED IT ON MY FACE WHEN MY EYES WERE CLOSED” (p.5);
“I STARTED IN MY EARLY 20’S. I NEVER WANTED TO. MY MOTHER ALWAYS WANTED ME TO BE MORE ‘FEMININE’ ” (p.5).

The contradictory voices within the same page and between pages jostle against one another, creating a tension within the work, unmediated by any regulatory narrative voice, a tension that implies an on-going dialogue between the various voices. Melhorn-Boe uses a similar collaborative, dialogic model in many of her works in a deliberate attempt to create new forms for women’s voices which break traditional, patriarchal models of both text/book forms and art forms.

… as I read these women’s stories I feel impelled to tell my own. Is it the tone of camaraderie, of shared language of resistance?… but not all the women are resisting. Some have bought into the traditional structure. Not that there’s anything wrong with wearing dresses or makeup or carrying a purse but, to do those things unthinkingly, unknowingly…is that what the text is trying to say, that we need to think about how we act and dress and why?

The collaborative, multi-voiced approach Melhorn-Boe uses exerts a strong presence in much feminist art. Melhorn-Boe says: “I’m not big on theories, but the feminist art movement has certainly affected me and inspired me”.5 In their examination of the American feminist art movement that began in the 1970’s, Norma Broude and Mary Garrard examine the collaborative model which many feminist artists choose as a vehicle for their work. Quoting another art commentator, Broude and Garrard assert the deliberate choice of a collaborative model as a feminist art form: “Lucy Lippard has argued that feminist art replaced the modernist “egotistical monologue” with a dialogue—between art and society, between artist and audience, between women artists of the present and those of the past—and with collaboration as a creative mode".6 The collaborative mode which Melhorn-Boe uses is inherently dialogic, creating a multitude of conversations between voices of women in the text, between text and reader, and between reader and social discourses.

In much of the text in Colour Me Dutiful, the women’s language signifies a rite of passage, welcome or unwelcome, and a place of initiation into the world of “femininity.” Colour me Dutiful presents texts from women who were reluctant to wear makeup (“THINK HOW CLOSE LIPSTICK GETS TO YOUR MOUTH”); women who could hardly wait until they were allowed to try makeup (“I USED TO PUT ON MY COUSIN’S WHITE LIPSTICK”); women who did not wait until makeup was sanctioned by parents (“I PUT ON… LIPSTICK, ONLY AFTER I GOT TO SCHOOL”); women who felt makeup revealed their personality (“I LOOK POLISHED”); and women who felt makeup covered up their true self (“I USE IT TO COVER ME AND HIDE THE REAL ME SO I CAN FACE THE WORLD”). All of the women represented, however, talked about their use or non-use of makeup in relation to societal norms and expectations, measuring themselves against what they perceive as accepted standards of behaviour.

success
Suitable for Success
(page one)

The lower text reads:
“In our office everyone dresses in a professional manner. It’s subliminal pressure. The unwritten guidelines are set out by the senior management—they lead by example.”

(Retail Fashion Chain: Head Office)
A related bookwork, Suitable for Success, also examines women’s body image in a public sphere. A tall, thin book, (shape reinforcing content) Suitable for Success melds text drawn from John T. Molloy’s influential The Dress for Success Book,7 photographs of female models from fashion magazines, and stories from women about their experiences with dress. Women’s stories and photos are presented by Melhorn-Boe in ironic counterpoint to Molloy’s prescriptive suggestions. The first page features a side profile of a pouting woman with long hair, open suit jacket displaying her bra, and thumb hooked in skirt waist to show her navel. Molloy’s rule which heads this page and runs into the next dictates “the jacket should be cut fu/lly enough to cover the contours of t/he bust” (1-2). The formula for success suggested by Molloy is undercut by the open sexual display of the model, a marketing display created, we remind ourselves, by the male-dominated advertising machine. Melhorn-Boe’s interruption of Molloy’s text at page breaks simultaneously undercuts his sartorial authority and highlights the patriarchal desires shaping media depictions of women’s bodies.

Janet Wolff, in a series of essays examining women and culture, explores the relationship of women’s bodies to society. Paraphrasing Mary Douglas, Wolff says “the body operates as a symbol of society across cultures, and the rituals, rules, and boundaries concerning bodily behaviour can be understood as the functioning of social rules and hierarchies”.8 As Melhorn-Boe explores the rituals surrounding women’s dress, makeup, hairstyles, and depilatory preferences, she renders visible the social rules and hierarchies influencing women.

I like this first page, the way the text is lettered to look like made up eyes, lips, and cheeks. Carefully, I copy down the text, noting that it’s in caps, trying to reproduce it in my notes. It’s not enough. It’s not the same when it’s just words. That flattened face staring at me, almost accusing me, asking me how I feel about makeup… I’m supposed to be asking the questions here. I’m the one doing the reading.

All these voices—at first I thought they were Lise’s words, then I saw the stories contradicted each other. They must be different people speaking. As I turn the last page, I see that there is a list of women who have contributed to this text. These are their stories and their faces. I thought the pattern would change by the book’s end. She used the same format for every page. I wanted her to break out of that form, use different colours, stop using pink, stop using makeup. I don’t have anything against makeup, but here, reading this, I think I need to make a stand. I want the work to make a stand, not just be there. I’m putting it away. I’m not sure I like it any more.


Melhorn-Boe’s form and content present a challenge to the feminist theorist. Do her representations of facets of women’s daily life—what she carries in her purse (Big Black Bag), how she dresses (Suitable for Success), and what she cooks (Light and Flaky)—simply reify stereotypically patriarchal images of women or do they challenge assumptions created by a male cultural objectification of women? Feminist art theory argues that any art which examines objects implicated in women’s identity formation is feminist. Broude and Garrard assert that women can escape cultural oppression by identifying “icons of their own oppression—lingerie, dollhouses, women’s clothing, makeup” (p.23) and by positing all things in a woman’s world “from vaginas to lipsticks… as fit matter for art” (p.25). While I agree that insight into the mechanics of oppression and impetus for change can be achieved through an exploration of objects of a woman’s world, I do not believe any form of exploration is sufficient to achieve those means. Two of Melhorn-Boe’s works illustrate this point: Bad Girls Good and What are little girls / boys made of?

Bad Girls Good, like Colour me Dutiful, is constructed to force the reader into an interpretative and reciprocal relationship with the work. Fashioned from lavender card stock with xeroxed text, Bad Girls Good features women’s stories from their childhood. The left hand pages consist of text, while the right hand pages are images of literary characters: Anne of Green Gables, Alice in Wonderland, Harriet the Spy, Mary (of The Secret Garden), Eloise, Goldilocks, Cinderella, and Pippi Longstocking. Each page is cut into three sections; the reader may read the text as a conventional book by ignoring the separations or the reader can mix story and image sections in any configuration. The artist presents the images and text, but the reader configures the order of the reading. Melhorn-Boe deliberately arranges the work so the first imagic representation is in opposition to the last. Struwelliese, the feminine version of the German cautionary tale character Struwwelpeter, is featured on the front cover of Melhorn-Boe’s book in a state of disarray. Her stockings have holes, her dress is patched, her hair is tangled, and she looks as if she is barely holding on to the puppy in her arms. The last image of the book, in sequential order, is Lieschen, Struwelliese “reformed” the artist’s notes tell us. Lieschen’s clothes are immaculate, a crisp pinafore protects her dress, her stockings are pulled up and her hair is brushed. A cat nestles on the floor beside her feet which are politely together, unlike the first Struwelliese who stands with feet indiscreetly splayed. The title Bad Girls Good mirrors the narrative movement in the book from a “bad” girl to a “good” girl. What the text indicates, however, is that definitions of “bad” and “good” are social constructions, based on the assumptions that desirable feminine qualities are cleanliness, tidiness, meekness, chastity, and conformity. Being forced to be good was, in the words of one woman Melhorn-Boe quotes in the book, “a constant chafing horror.” Transgressions of moral codes, from being untidy to allowing one’s breasts to be touched by a boy, were “scary,” “exciting,” and guilt producing; these boundary crossings marked the line between a “bad” girl and a “good” girl.

When Bad Girls Good is read sequentially from front to back, the effect on the reader is one of control and constraint. The wildly angry Anne of Green Gables associated with the first text is reduced to the perfectly modeled Cinderella and then the reformed (good) Struwelliese. When the reader mixes the texts and their accompanying images, changes the order of reading the texts, and juxtaposes textual images of transgression against graphic images of constraint, the reading is much different. The reader is asked and invited to help construct the work’s meaning through the physical act of configuring the sections of the book. When the reader inserts herself into the meaning-making process, she challenges the underlying patriarchal formulations defining bad girl and good girl.

I keep thinking about Lise’s faces… I think the fact that I can’t get them out of my mind, that I keep rearranging their texts, means that they’re significant for me. There are so many different voices in the one work like the lawyer who says she only started to wear makeup when everyone at law school asked if she was dying because she was so pale. She got tired of “quashing their alarms by saying my pallor was attributable to reading little words in thick dust books under fluorescent lights in windowless rooms” (p.6). Then there’s the woman who says “men are sexually aggressive toward me when I am made up. ‘Make up and make out’ ” (p.8). Lise numbered the pages in Colour me Dutiful. She didn’t in all of her works. The last page is all about women who don’t wear makeup. I think that must be significant—the last page of a text leaves a powerful impression. The last voice says, “I don’t like the feel of it, and actually, in an unpolitical way, I don’t like the social pressure to wear it. Can’t I just be myself?” (p.27). I don’t mind the pink so much now because I see Lise including so many different voices that pink cannot possibly represent them all and because I see her resisting what pink historically has meant. Pinkness isn’t woman isn’t all of us isn’t makeup… maybe I was resisting this work because I found its challenge uncomfortable?

A less successful bookwork in terms of challenging social gender constructions is What are little girls / boys made of? Traditional nursery rhymes are exhibited on accordion folded pages—pink dresses for rhymes about girls, blue shorts for those about boys. Actions, which carry different societal value depending on the gender of the agent, are juxtaposed to one another. For instance, one rhyme reads:

Tommy Trot, a man of law
Sold his bed and lay upon straw;
Sold the straw and slept on grass,
To buy his wife a looking glass.

Tommy Trot’s actions are desirable and commendable, but not so Margery Daw’s, who did the same thing:

See Saw Margery Daw
Sold her bed and lay on straw.
Was she not a dirty slut.
To sell her bed and lay in the dirt?

Although Melhorn-Boe juxtaposes the nursery rhymes, it is easy to miss their gender differences. The familiar, repetitive nature of the text imposed on the appropriately coloured page lulls the reader into a sense of familiarity and compliance with the rhyme. The sense of interchange between a multiplicity of positions for the reader is absent in What are little girls / boys made of? and thus the work is not able to critique the biased gender constructions of the nursery rhymes.

I have been arguing that Melhorn-Boe’s bookworks open the socially gendered nature of women to scrutiny through an examination of roles, artifacts, and stories from women’s lives. The means through which she encourages the reader to participate in an examination of the formation of such socially constructed values is the juxtaposition of novel art and text forms—forms which act to lever each other’s meaning away from its normal, societal bound context. Her focus on women’s bodies and their experiences through and with their bodies, together with her emphasis on meaning-making through language, provides a dual avenue of possibility for women. Marina Camboni, in an essay examining women’s use of language and its transformational possibilities, focuses on the meaning-making of the mind as the seat of potential. The mind, writes Camboni, is the “centre of metamorphosis par excellence, where language, experience and mental images meet and transmute, opening up potential vistas, projecting the present beyond itself, revealing an infinity of possible worlds to subjects that never forget the fact that they are rooted in a woman’s body”.9 Melhorn-Boe keeps the bodied nature of women present to the reader. At the same time, she beguiles the reader to a site where language and the experience of the body intersect, forcing the reader to examine the relationship between body and language.

Looking at Lise’s bookworks, I feel like I’m holding other women in my hands. As I read their stories, I rehearse their lines and try to feel what it is like to be them. I feel like I’m looking in a mirror and instead of me I see all sorts of women—of different colours, shapes, sizes, experiences—looking back at me…

In their informative and lucid explication of Italian feminist thought, Sandra Kemp and Paolo Bono argue that one of the positive results of feminism is that, in opposition to the traditional position of women as mirrors for men, dependent on men’s gaze for a sense of self, now “women have started being mirrors for one another”.10 This mirroring process is central to the dynamics within Melhorn-Boe’s bookworks. Because of the construction of Melhorn-Boe’s bookworks, a multiplicity of positions rather than a single, unified subject position is reflected back to the reader, actively engaging the reader in an ongoing mirroring process which puts the reader in a position of tension with her own subjectivity. The reader thus is invited to interrogate her own self-conscious identity and to question her relationship to the experiences presented through Melhorn-Boe’s texts in an open-ended, reflective process that does not negate or resolve the tensions within the bookworks themselves and between the bookworks and the reader, but that embodies and embraces these tensions. This movement of reflection, which ultimately includes a fractured and refracted vision of gendered constructions of woman, serves in Kemp and Bono’s sense to act as a new model of individual identity or consciousness of self. Melhorn-Boe’s most powerful bookworks are those that refuse to reconcile their inherent tensions, but instead render visible their tensions for the reader as a site of engagement and dialogue.

Notes:
1. Theresa de Lauretis, Feminist Studies, Critical Studies (Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1968) 8.
2. Gloria Hickey, “Hairy Legs Cross Boundaries”, Azure (November 1986).
3. Linda Hutcheon, A Poetics of Postmodernism: History, Theory, Fiction (New York: Routledge, 1988) 15.
4. Lise Melhorn-Boe, Colour Me Dutiful (Toronto, Transformer Press, 1986) 1.
5. Lise Melhorn-Boe, letter to the author, 24 October 1997.
6. Norma Broude and Mary D. Garrard (eds), The Power of Feminist Art: The American Movement of the 1970s, History and Impact (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1994) 22.
7. John T.Molloy, Dress for Success (New York: P.H. Wyden, 1975)
8. Janet Wolff, Feminine Sentences: Essays on Women and Culture (Great Britain: Polity Press, 1990) 122.
9. Marina Camboni, “Language in the Crucible of the Mind” in the Lonely Mirror: Perspectives on Feminist Theory. Sandra Kemp and Paolo Bono (eds) (London: Routledge, 1993) 84.
10. Sandra Kemp and Paolo Bono (eds) The Lonely Mirror: Perspectives on Feminist Theory (London: Routledge, 1993) 10.





Return to top

Past Lives
by Joan Murray

Creative Meaning-making
by Tara Hyland

Home/bodies
by Carolyn Langill

Fairy Tales and Family Fables
by Tara Hyland-Russell

Sometimes You've Got to Wake Up the Frog
by Tara Hyland-Russell




Home/bodies: Thoughts on Disclosure in the Recent Work of Lise Melhorn-Boe
Caroline Langill

Written in 1999 for the exhibition entitled Ghost Costumes at the White Water Gallery.

Caroline Langill is a multidisciplinary artist and writer living in Peterborough, Ontario. For the past few years her practice has focused on the relationship between intimacy and technology. Her most recent video installation, Chimera, investigated the paradox of rural life and biotechnology. She pursued visual art studies at Ontario College of Art after completing a Science degree in Biology. She also holds an MFA from York University. Her installation work has been exhibited nationally and in the UK, and her single channel video works have been broadcast nationally. She teaches at the Ontario College of Art and Design in Integrated Media.

Used with permission of Caroline Langill.

For the past two decades, Lise Melhorn-Boe has been telling tales through bookworks, quilts and clothes which formally undercut the tensions in her subjects, through gentleness and humour. Her accumulated oeuvre is one of testimony and disclosure, where her subject has been and continues to be the everyday, informed by feminism and an instinctive understanding of the business of women’s lives.

Self-disclosure has always hovered in the margins of Melhorn-Boe’s books, but much of her vision has been external rather than internal. The work in this exhibition is treated formally within the same structural framework as her previous work, with the form draswing the viewer into an heuristic investigation. Clark Moustakas, a clinical psychologist, describes ‘heuristic research’ as “a process of internal search through thich one discovers the nature and meaning of experience and develops methods and procedures for further investigation and analysis”1 Melhorn-Boe has undertaken this analysis, albeit unknowingly, and has come to the point that Clark considers to be the essence of heuristics which is, for the researcher, a “direct personal encounter with the investigated phenomenon.”2 Moustakas notes that “At the heart of heuristics lies an emphasis on disclosing the self as a way of facilitating disclosure in others.”3 For Melhorn-Boe, the form of the book becomes an object of investigation/contemplation quietly offering surfaces, textures and layers through which the texts are woven. The viewer is gently ushered into the position of the subject within the piece, the content of which has been painstakingly obtained through detailed questionnaires. Numerous voices are heard as they collide with each other, providing empirical evidence of the complexities of women’s subjectivities.However, slowly a shift has occurred and this artist has increasingly turned the discourse inwards on herself and her immediate family. With this recent body of work, using the legacies left to her by her parents, Melhorn-Boe reveals the hidden lives of parents and children. So much of what happens in a family, as it struggles to maintain some semblance of normality, is invisible to the world. Pauline Melhorn produced a number of journals which expose a life frought with tensions about missed opportunities, at a time when the notion of the nuclear family had reached its peak. Ghost Costumes: Pauline is the first work which utilizes the journal writings. Transparent garments hang from coat hangers. Within the garments, which chronically mirror her life, moving from a child’s dress to a woman’s coat, hang panels inscribed with fragments of her writing, expanding the spectre of the mother into a woman with her own thwarted desires.

The companion piece to this work, Ghost Costumes: Kurt, exerts a very different presence. Again we are presented with eight garments, but unlike the former, they are not representative of a life through time, but rather a life’s work. Melhorn-Boe’s father was an electrical contractor. The uniforms of his work are what the artist has chosen to remake, in unbleached muslin. The contrast between the gauzy dresses and the sober muslin underscores the stasis of a nine-to-five job. There is no text associated with these clothes, only photographs. These images of substations and transformer sites inevitably let us down as they fall into a generic repository of sites of construction, which have been traditionally the territory of men. The two works work against and with each other, reminding us of the power of difference and of social conformity, and how we all live with constant compromise for the good of the many.In contrast the bookworks, Once Upon a House and The Family That Liked to Eat look at the whole family and take us back to a childhood full of middle class values. The adopted style mimics children’s literature. The pop-up format exploits infantile aesthetics in order to emphasize the irony of their ‘happy’ lives. By utilizing this form Melhorn-Boe locates us within the environment of her childhood. This canny strategy, to subvert our adult rationality through form, opens us up to the lives of this family from the point of view of the child/adult. In Once Upon a House Melhorn-Boe speaks of her stubborn integration into a family with three children. Now she begins to tell the stories that she has so often requested from others. The psychoanalyst Theodore Reik has noted that, “By the confession we become acquainted with ourselves. It offers the best possibility for self-understanding and self acceptance.”4 Melhorn-Boe has innately realized this power and has used it for others, but now she has entered into a period of self-disclosure. We can note that this motivation to confess is one which has been adopted by the culture at large. It begs a larger question of why this phenomenon is occurring at this point in time, as we all teeter on the precipice of this century. For Melhorn-Boe it seems that the death of her parents provided the catalyst. We find her disclosing not only her own yearnings about the past and her childhood, but also her mother’s. Her approach to Pauline Melhorn’s writings is one of respect for her mother’s lack of disclosure. The journals in Ghost Costumes: Pauline are veiled. The book Soft Molasses Cookies is ingeniously constructed through pop-ups which are ghost-like representations of domestic spaces, with her mother’s paintings acting as backdrops. The ghost quality of the work comes from the text which covers the white surfaces of the pop-up pages and, although clear and legible, written in pencil, it fills all the available space. Like the lives of so many women, her words become a grey haze covering the interiors of the spaces of the home. They are made visible and instantly invisible through the format of the book. As we read, we discover a narrative focussed almost solely on food. The details of Pauline Melhorn’s own nourishment and her nurturing of others sweeps across the pages. The colour xerox on the cover of The Family That Liked to Eat shows her cheerily displaying a plate of mussels. It is not hard to imagine what drove her to involve herself in this subject to this extent, since we know full well that the body is a site of struggle for power within the family, but it is difficult to determine what drove her to write about it so, especially since it is clear through other writings, that she had other desires and needs outside of this ealm of food. For this writer, this is how Pauline Melhorn has maintained her secrets—although the journals are now the property of her children, she has still managed to shield herself from them, to maintain her privacy, through a very cryptic text.

The other works in this exhibition support this recent heuristic journey of self-surveilance which Melhorn-Boe has undertaken. Inevitably, these works will influence her position with respect to other women’s stories now that she has revealed her own to us.

Notes:
1. Moustakas, Clark, Heuristic Research, Design Methodology and Applications (Newbury Park, London, New Delhi: Sage Publications, 1990), 9.
2. Ibid, 14.
3. Ibid, 17.
4. Reik, Theodore, The Compulsion to Confess: On the Psychoanalysis of Crime and Punsihment (New York: Farrar, Strauss and Cudahy, 1945), 205.





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Past Lives
by Joan Murray

Creative Meaning-making
by Tara Hyland

Home/bodies
by Carolyn Langill

Fairy Tales and Family Fables
by Tara Hyland-Russell

Sometimes You've Got to Wake Up the Frog
by Tara Hyland-Russell




Fairy Tales and Family Fables
Tara Hyland-Russell

Fairy Tales and Family Fables was conceived in conjunction with a multidisciplinary course, “The Changing Face of Folk and Fairy Tales,” developed by Dr. Hyland-Russell at St.Mary’s College, Calgary, where she is an Assistant Professor of English. The exhibition was installed at St. Mary’s College, Shawnessy Public Library and Specials Collections at MacKimmie Library, in Calgary in 2003.

Used with permission. Dr. Hyland-Russell may be contacted at tara[dot]hyland-russell[at]stmc[dot]ab[dot]ca

Over the last 25 years, artist Lise Melhorn-Boe has been exploring the lives of her subjects through the objects and narratives that frame their experience. Juxtaposing people’s stories against the domestic objects of their lives allows Melhorn-Boe to probe the connections between the material aspects of our lives and the stories we beleive about ourselves. Widely interpreting the book form, Melhorn-Boe interrogates concepts of text, book and art forms while she humourously but pointedly relates the challenges of daily life as it intersects notions of equality, gender, domestic roles, expectations and the negotiation of identity. Her bookworks have ranged from loose paper pages in the shape of life-sized legs with the cover, a hand-spun stocking, held closed by garters (Hairy Legs) to life-size plywood cutouts of women letterd with lime-green narratives of women’s lives and dressed in aprons and flourescent pink rubber gloves (Bound by Convention 2).

Many of Melhorn-Boe’s previous exhibitions have queried the expectations that gendered roles have placed upon women; she brings a politicised and feminist stance to her work, weaving the narratives of many women’s lives to construct multiple avenues through which the reader can enter the text. Initially beginning her artistic career with autobiographical works, the artist shied away from such self-disclosure following negative reception. Perhaps responding to changing critical practice which now values the life writing discourse, Melhorn-Boe has once again begun to use the rich stories of her own life as the means through which to explore cultural narratives and practices and has expanded her oeuvre to include family fables and fairy tales that incorporate the stories of both men and women.

As Marina Warner notes, “Fairy tales often engage with issues of light and darkness—the plots represent struggles to distinguish enemies from friends, the normal and monstrous.”1 Fairy Tales and Family Fables questions cultural notions of normal and monstrous renditions of life quests through reference to food, clothes, choices, independence and love. Through the exhibited works, the artist explores the familiar forms of tales in umfamiliar ways to highlight the archtypes, dynamics and tensions in family fables and coming-of-age tales. The fairy tale quest story (“Once upon a time…”) shapes The Boy Who Liked to Eat and girls I have known, stories of the artist’s father, who emigrated from Germany to Canada, in search not of riches but food. Images of food are central in other works too: Recipes, a compilation of anecdotes from many cooks, details the atmosphere, dynamics, food choices, and force-feeding habits of their families. Photographs interspersed with the anecdotes ground the tales in vivid evocations of real people. The Tales of the Teabags uses the relationship between the cost of teabags and the price of a bottle of beer to depict in a humourous fashion one woman’s story of early married life, and The Family that Liked to Eat, presented as a three-dimensional pop-up house, requires the reader to walk around the work to read the text and view the story’s “set.” The light-hearted text describes the “greedy” habits of this family of five that lead to the painstaking division of a bag of cherries, counted out one by one. The gently humourous tone, however, cannot quite counteract the spatial and functional separation of the mother from the other family members: while they lounge in front of the fireplace or wait for food while seated at the table, she is off by herself preparing their repast.

Only by viewing the two linked exhibitions at St. Mary’s College and Shawnessy Public Library can the reader of Melhorn-Boe’s bookworks understand the nuamces and interconnections of these pieces. The tensions underlying The Family that Liked to Eat are more fully explored in Ghost Costumes: Pauline, a book/sculpture of eight life-sized reproductions of garments belonging to the artist’s mother, Pauline. Struggling against cultural and familial narratives that bound her into domestic roles to the exclusion of her artistic desires, Pauline found that her journals were the only vehicle through which she could voice her quest for identity and self-expression: “I wanted to go to art school but my father said, “Foolishness! You’ll never be able to earn a living that way.” Only after her mother’s death Lise read her mother’s journals. She had reproduced sections of them within the garments: “I sold my soul for a Singer sewing machine. But it does everything except type.”

While Pauline was caught in a life story that denied her the object of her quest, the characters in other works of Melhorn-Boe obtain the object of their deisire, but at what cost? In a series of pop-up books that bring together the themes of cultural myths and familial narratives, Melhorn-Boe revisits four of the most well-known and loved fairy tales of our culture and scrutinises them with an eye for their politics of gender and culture. Using images from fashion magazines, Melhorn-Boe highlights the cultural artifacts that draw us to fairy tales with their promise of never-ending happiness.

Scholars like Jack Zipes have demonstrated how active and strong folk heroines in fold tales have become transformed into weak and submissive damsels in distress, beginning with Charles Perrault’s version of Cinderella and culminating in the Walt Disney film version in which a hapless young woman waits to be rescued by a man who defines her life. Melhorn-Boe deconstructs fairy tale heroines as quietly submissive and questions the agents in their oppression: high heels, corsets, beauty myths. For example, Sleeping Beauty is put to sleep by a stiletto heel rather than by a spindle, while in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, a lipstick instead of a poisoned apple is Snow White’s nemesis. In Beauty and the Beast, the heroine is seen only in fragments—legs, breasts, lips—to underscore the highly sexualised but faceless and unnamed representation of women in today’s media and cultural narratives.

Cinderella legs
Cinderella:
The last page

Three pairs of legs fly off the page in two directions as the prince (on the facing page) sets off to hunt for the perfect foot. The text reads:
‘PICK ME!
It’s the most important test of your life. Why take a chance?
The lady’s got some very rough edges.
Hold on. I think there’s something in my shoe.
PICK ME!
Too much of a good thing?
“Are you sure it won’t hurt?”
These shoes are full of it.
From the ankles down. at least. life is solved.’
Cinderella: How to Make a Statement Without Saying a Word, has Cinderella gazing out from the cover of her story, implicating the viewer in the telling of her voiceless tale. The work asserts the essential relationship linking beauty, power and cultural stereotyping. As fairy tale scholar Jack Zipes asserts, “To talk about fairy tales today…one must…talk about power, violence, alienation, social conditions, child-rearing and sex roles. It is no longer possible to ignore the connection between the aesthetic components of the fairy tales, whether they be old or new, and their historical function within a socialisation process which forms taste, mores, values, and habits.”2 Handmade paper, finely crafted pages and witty images beguile the reader into a close examination of Melhorn-Boe’s bookworks, while prompting us to consider how beauty, power and representation collide within well-known and recasted tellings of familiar tales.

Lise Melhorn-Boe recognises that, as Mary Catherine Bateson phrases it, “Women’s lives have always been grounded in the physical by the rhythms of their bodies and the giving and receiving of concrete and specific tokens of love, a ring or a teaspoon of cough syrup.”3 Thus Melhorn-Boe roots her bookworks and sculptures in the everyday objects and aspects of women’s lives: aprons, baby clothes, recipes, meals, houses, makeup and follows a trajectory that marks the undervalued objects of women’s lives as worthy of scrutiny. The resulting works have a potent visual, tactile and narrative appeal.

Fairy Tales speak of dreams, hopes and transformations. Melhorn-Boe’s works impel us to examine the fables and tales that influence the constructions of our experience and invite us to consider what kind of lives we tall when we tell our fairy tales and family fables and what are the shapes of the stories that we desire to live.

Notes:
1. Warner, Marina. From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers. London: Vintage, 1994. 2. Zipes, Jack. Don’t Bet on the Prince: Contemporary Feminist Fairy Tales in North America and England. New York: Routledge, Kegan and Paul, 1989. 3. Bateson, Mary Catherine. Composing a Life. Grove Press, 2001.





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Past Lives
by Joan Murray

Creative Meaning-making
by Tara Hyland

Home/bodies
by Carolyn Langill

Fairy Tales and Family Fables
by Tara Hyland-Russell

Sometimes You've Got to Wake Up the Frog
by Tara Hyland-Russell




‘Sometimes You’ve Got to Wake Up the Frog’:
Fairy Tales and Family Fables According to Lise Melhorn-Boe
Tara Hyland-Russell

Written by Dr. Hyland-Russell in 2005 for an exhibition of the same name at White Water Gallery in North Bay, Ontario in July 2005.

Dr. Hyland-Russell is Assistant Professor of English and Associate Dean of Students at St. Mary’s University College in Calgary. She has been writing about Lise Melhorn-Boe’s work for several years. Publications include: Re-Rooting: At the Junction of Identity and Form in the Canadian Long Poem. Ed. Tara Hyland-Russell. Foreword Robert Kroetsch. St. Mary’s College Press, 2005 and “Creative Meaning-Making: Reading the Bookworks of Lise Melhom-Boe.” JAB: Journal of Artists’ Books (Spring 1999): 11-15.

Used with permission. Dr. Hyland-Russell may be contacted at tara[dot]hyland-russell[at]stmc[dot]ab[dot]ca

‘What is wrong with this story?’ artist Lise Melhorn-Boe seems to be asking with Fairy Tales and Family Stories, her most recent bookworks. Playing on our familiarity with the classics of the fairy tale canon —Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast—and of their happily-ever-after plots, Melhorn-Boe not only asks to us examine the shape and content of familiar fairy tales, but also our expectations of fairy tales and our desire to make real-life stories fit the fairy tale mode. Our cultural yearning for the fairy tale’s familiar and predictably gendered romance plot makes the fairy tale a perfect vehicle for Canadian artist Lise Melhorn-Boe’s satiric exploration of social mores and expectations.

Over the last 25 years, Lise Melhorn-Boe has been exploring the lives of her subjects through the objects and narratives that frame their experience. Juxtaposing people’s stories against the domestic objects of their lives allows Melhorn-Boe to probe the connections between the material aspects of our lives and the stories we believe about ourselves. Widely interpreting the book form, Melhorn-Boe interrogates notions of text, book and art forms while she humorously but pointedly relates the challenges of daily life as it intersects notions of equality, gender, domestic roles, expectations and the negotiation of identity. Her bookworks have ranged from loose paper pages in the shape of life-size legs with the cover, a hand-spun stocking, held closed by garters (Hairy Legs) to life-size plywood cutouts of women lettered with lime-green narratives of women’s lives and dressed in aprons and florescent pink rubber gloves (Bound By Convention 2).

Many of Melhorn-Boe’s previous exhibitions have queried the role that gendered expectations have placed upon women; she brings a politicised and feminist stance to her works, weaving the narrative of many women’s lives into her works to construct multiple avenues through which the reader of her works can enter the text. Initially beginning her life’s work with autobiographical works, the artist shied away from such self-disclosure following negative reception. Perhaps responding to changing critical practice which now values the life writing discourse, Melhorn-Boe has once again begun to use the rich stories of her own life as the means through which to explore cultural narratives and practices and has expanded her oeuvre to include family stories and fairy tales that incorporate both men and women’s stories.

As Marina Warner notes, “Fairy tales often engage with issues of light and darkness-the plots represent struggles to distinguish enemies from friends, the normal from the monstrous.”1 Sometimes You’ve Got to Wake Up the Frog questions cultural notions of normal and monstrous renditions of fairy tale and family quests through references to clothes, choices, independence and love. Through the exhibited works, the artist explores the familiar forms of tales in unfamiliar ways to highlight the archetypes, dynamics and tensions in family fables and coming-of-age tales.

In a series of pop-up books that bring together the themes of cultural myths and familial narratives, Melhorn-Boe revisits four of the most well-known and loved fairy tales of our culture and one lesser known tale but scrutinises them with an eye for their gendered and cultural politics. Using images from fashion magazines, Melhorn-Boe highlights the cultural artifacts that draw us to fairy tales with their promise of never-ending happiness. Scholars like Jack Zipes and Jane Yolen have demonstrated how active and strong heroines in folk tales have become transformed into weak and submissive damsels in distress, beginning with Charles Perreault’s version of Cinderella and culminating in the Walt Disney film version in which a hapless young woman waits to be rescued by a man who defines her life. Melhorn-Boe deconstructs fairy tale heroines as quietly submissive and questions the agents in their oppression: high heels, corsets, beauty myths. Sleeping Beauty is put to sleep by a stiletto heel, rather than by a spindle while in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, a lipstick instead of a poisoned apple is Snow White’s nemesis. In Beauty and the Beast, the heroine is seen only in fragments-legs, breasts, lips-to underscore the highly sexualised but faceless and unnamed representation of women in today’s media and cultural narratives. Cinderella: How to Make A Statement Without Saying a Word, gazes out from the cover of her story, implicating the viewer in the telling of her voiceless tale and asserts the essential relationship between beauty, power and cultural stereotyping. As fairy tale scholar Jack Zipes asserts, “To talk about fairy tales today… one must… talk about power, violence, alienation, social conditions, child-rearing and sex roles. It is no longer possible to ignore the connection between the aesthetic components of the fairy tales, whether they be old or new, and their historical function within a socialisation process which forms taste, mores, values, and habits.”2 With her attention to the subtle interplay of handmade paper, finely crafted pages and witty image, Melhorn-Boe beguiles the reader into a close examination of her bookworks, while prompting us to consider how beauty, power and representation collide within well-known and recasted tellings of familiar tales.

In Many-Fur, a much less familiar tale, Melhorn-Boe brings the darker side of fairy and family tales to the fore. Also known as Tattercoats or Cap O’Rushes, the story of Many-Fur recounts a daughter’s flight from a King’s incestuous desire to have his daughter replace his dead Queen. Melhorn-Boe’s use of graphically seductive female images from contemporary magazines prevents us from dismissing this disturbing tale as ‘just a fairy tale’ while her revival of a bold heroine reminds us of the presence of strong female fairy tale characters in versions that have subsided from contemporary memory.

Like Many-Fur, Little House Vol. 2, a three-dimensional quilted house sculpture uses the fairy tale archetype of villain but brings the threat of the “bad men” into the reality of the family home in a collision of fairy tale and family stories. In other family stories Melhorn-Boe explores social expectations jauntily exposed against the daily fabric of real lives. The white linen and lace tablecloth of Cakestand beautifully evokes the elegant tea party of a sweet and lady-like grandmother-who caps off the event with a most indelicate fart—while the red acetate circles of Slurping bring us back to our own jello-slurping days and parental consequences for improper eating behaviour.

Why does Melhorn-Boe keep inviting connections between fairy tales and our real lives? What do Snow White and TVs have in common? Her most recent meta-fairy tales give us a clue. Library Book reminds many of us of our first journey into the world of the wonder tale as it relates a reader’s delight in the Andrew Lang coloured collection of fairy tales-the crimson, olive, and yellow fairy books-and of the passage from fairy tale reading to other reading. Someday, spilling out of a quilted dress-up box, is a series of unbound and exquisitely crafted fairy tale costumery—boots, doublets, gown-interspersed with a “feminist-professor-mother” narrative of her young daughter who prefers to embrace the traditional fairy tale plot rather than rewritten alternatives with strong women characters. “My daughter,” she says, “has observed the world and has noticed that the boys are in charge.” Melhorn-Boe simultaneously provokes the delight of the fairy tale and subverts its cultural hold. Yet, as in all her work, Melhorn-Boe does not present us with easy dichotomous choices. Instead, she places us in the midst of a repast of stories, fables, and images and lets us read them how we may, while prompting us to consider the social and gendered underpinnings of the versions we choose to believe and know. In a piece emblematic of her entire fairy tale cycle, Melhorn Boe’s Wake up The Frog unifies the many strands of fairy tale that circulate in this exhibition and assembles them in a rich bricolage of text, reader and interpretation. Wake up the Frog urges us not only to read the fairy tales and stories that inform and shape our lives, but to shake them up a bit.

You can’t always stick to the same story, Lise Melhorn-Boe seems to suggest. Sometimes, you’ve got to Wake Up the Frog.


Tara Hyland-Russell
Assistant Professor of English

Dr. Hyland-Russell is Associate Dean of Students at St. Mary’s University College in Calgary. She has been writing about Lise Melhorn-Boe’s work for several years. Publications include: Re-Rooting: At the Junction of Identity and Form in the Canadian Long Poem. Ed. Tara Hyland-Russell. Foreword Robert Kroetsch. St. Mary’s College Press, 2005 and “Creative Meaning-Making: Reading the Bookworks of Lise Melhorn-Boe.” JAB: Journal of Artists’ Books (Spring 1999): 11-15.


Notes:
1. Warner, Marina. From The Beast to the Blonde. p. 420
2. Zipes, Jack. Don’t Bet on the Prince. p. 2




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