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epidotepress.bsky.social
Epidote Press
@epidotepress.bsky.social
Publishing imprint based in the Point Reyes Peninsula. Art & writing concerned with translation, folklore, natural history, and the poetics of place. www.epidotepress.com
Pinned
If you find yourself in New York City, please stop by Nicelle Beauchene Gallery in Tribeca to see Louise Despont's beautiful solo exhibition—Afterlifes. I'm working on a book with Louise & wrote the exhibition's accompanying text, which can be found here:

nicellebeauchene.com/exhibitions/...
"I was raised under a bell jar with forget-me-nots in my hair."
Thank you, Miriam Hopkins.
September 15, 2025 at 6:07 PM
Reposted by Epidote Press
My painting "No Omen but Awe" is on view at the permanent collection gallery at the Bolinas Museum. Come west & stop by.
July 21, 2025 at 10:43 PM
Make contact with yourself—lay down a list of notes—and the discourse that must bind them together will grow among them on its own, like a creeper among stones. — Cristina Campo
August 1, 2025 at 4:11 AM
If you find yourself in New York City, please stop by Nicelle Beauchene Gallery in Tribeca to see Louise Despont's beautiful solo exhibition—Afterlifes. I'm working on a book with Louise & wrote the exhibition's accompanying text, which can be found here:

nicellebeauchene.com/exhibitions/...
May 23, 2025 at 9:35 PM
My partner in crime, @herbert_pfostl, has an exhibition opening at Bolinas Museum next Saturday! "Between Field and Firmament” will be up through August 6th. He will be in conversation with the curator in an event titled "The Hard Part is Silence" on June 24th. Details below!
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
Rena Papaspyrou's "Photocopies directly from matter," 1980-1981. Thanks to Steve Roden for introducing me to Papaspyrou's work. Sadly, it's nearly impossible to find any of her books in print.
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
Rena Papaspyrou (b. 1938), "Geography—Images through Matter," 1981, Metal Sheet with Traces of Cement and Graphite. For S.R.
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
As we enter the "rainy season" in California, I turn to Mary Webb, unabashedly, and look for those passages about about how the low lands draw storms & night after night on the apples descend rains that are thick, permanent wires taut between heaven and earth.
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
Liliana Porter, Plate V from Wrinkle, photogravure, 1968.
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
It's that time of year when the westering sun sets the windows on fire at the end of the day. And the Golden-Crested Sparrow has arrived with its melancholy, whistling song. Image: Sun flares & light leaks in the last exposed sheet of decades-old Polaroid film.
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
A favorite: "And the heaps of coral of every type and hue, animated by a melancholy and bracing light, began to glow as though each little stone carried its own microscopic lantern within its delicate interior."
— Joseph Roth, Der Leviathan, 1938.
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
Yet at times between two everyday words a few syllables of 'dead' languages will slip out, ghost-words that have the transparency of a flame at high noon. — Pierre Klossowski, Diana at her Bath, 1968
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
Notes from this evening's reading: phosphorous in a fawn’s finest bone; pearl in a sparrow’s buried vocal chord; iron in the last breath of a badger.
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
Days when nothing particular happens, but which are made secretly resonant by a nonetheless unfamiliar dimension, like the hollow space inside a musical instrument. — Philippe Jaccottet, Through an Orchard, Aquila Publishing, Isle of Skye, 1978
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
These Days: Projecting Super 8 and staring at the wall. #Bolex
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
The earth was like a magnet which pulled me and sometimes I came near it, this identification or annihilation that I longed for. — Jean Rhys, Smile Please: An Unfinished Autobiography, 1979.
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
Couple standing in front of Barnett Newman's Vir Heroicus Sublimis, 1951-1952.
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
The vulnerability of precious things is beautiful because vulnerability is a mark of existence. — Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace, 1947. HBD S.W.
November 30, 2024 at 7:05 PM
Pasted on the cover of an old notebook: "source of, may be extinguished while we still see its rays.
November 30, 2024 at 7:04 PM
Signal Lights: Hedda Sterne's drawings from the 1960s and 1970s—the Baldanders and the Lettuces. A mystic who loved Simone Weil & road-tripped with Delores Del Rio, who used a magnifying glass to continue drawing when she lost her vision as she neared the age of one hundred. Yes!
November 30, 2024 at 7:04 PM
Evening Commute—Bolinas to Point Reyes by way of Olema Valley—a literal suture resting above the San Andreas fault, binding two entirely different tectonic plates. Different stones, flora, fauna, & sounds straddle the center, & there is often a fine layer of fog above the valley.
November 30, 2024 at 7:04 PM
"When I was in Germany, there was an adorable swan. His name was Erich [...] and very often we would walk together [...] When I left, I suffered, because I didn’t see the swan anymore. And he was wounded. Because there were animals in the woods. But he’s always on my mind." — FJ
November 30, 2024 at 7:04 PM
Home: The wild & unpredictable coastline of the Point Reyes Peninsula—separated by time & tectonics from the North American continent. “You have to go out, but you don’t have to come back” — Motto attributed to the California Life Saving Service, 19th century
November 30, 2024 at 7:04 PM
Poetry is the daughter of silence — George Mackay Brown, A Carrier of Stones, 1969.
November 30, 2024 at 7:04 PM
David Gatten, "The Enjoyment of Reading, Lost and Found" (film still), 2001. Book as strata.
November 30, 2024 at 7:04 PM