My daughter makes zines, little works of art -
This zine measures 3" X 2" -
And has 7 pages -
She's an artist and a musician in a punk band. She also printed a special mini version of this particular zine, just to put an even finer point on the already fine point:
If you're in Toronto, The Beguiling carries my daughter's work, usually at the front desk. Her style is inimitable - you'll know it when you see it.
Thanks for reading!
About the Creator
Marie Wilson
Harper Collins published my novel "The Gorgeous Girls". My feature film screenplay "Sideshow Bandit" has won several awards at film festivals. I have a new feature film screenplay called "A Girl Like I" and it's looking for a producer.
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More stories from Marie Wilson and writers in Art and other communities.
Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing him—no, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying won’t change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didn’t break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanova2 days ago in Poets
Comments (8)
Delightful. And you're right. She has style.
This was such a treat! Absolutely adorable work. I loved how you showed us A Closer Look issue and the mini-version next to the glasses is so cute. You must be very proud of her. :)
⚪️ celebrating your child like this, showcasing her work is heartwarming and so very rare ~ I love the ‘humdrum boring’ image as she calls is ⚪️ the drawing of the oat milk was perfect 👏🏽👌🏽 … the small hedge hog and the close up version of him was such a treat, it was so cute 😍 ⚪️ the mini version of her zine was a great idea. Love the glasses next to it for scale. Very aesthetically pleasing ♥️♥️ coming over from VSS ♥️♥️🤗 ⚪️
I loved this.
Your daughter’s creativity really shines through.
Omgggg, that is so cute! Please let her know that I loved it!
Very nice! Thx 4 sharing!
I will have to look for it!