The Assemblagist

It is incred­i­bly spe­cial to con­sider a group as part of my whole. Come to real­ize, today on this day of Storm Trooper Apparel and leg lifts, that I am and always have been a “mail artist.” An incred­i­bly sat­is­fy­ing rev­e­la­tion. Have done such since almost pre-​birth era. Send­ing Kaia Larsen all the ephemera I could fit into an enve­lope, circa 1972. She in one col­lege, me in another. Post­card to Jimbo, “I know who you are and I saw what you did” and his fear and his fed­eral agent arrest, long time past in Tulsa. MaIL ARt pro­ceeds Me. Pre­ceeds me. Pre-​dates my exis­tence, famil­ial ways.

Incred­i­bly incredible.

There must be, there­fore, proof of such existence.

Mail Art began with Ash John­son, pub­lisher of news­pa­per in Rock­ford, IL in 1950s who befriended and loved my par­ents. Humor­ous to the max­i­mum of all maxes, this Ash and Mabel would send my par­ents telegrams from famous peo­ple. I still have, in my var­i­ous pos­ses­sion, a birth­day card addressed to my dad and signed “Princess Mar­garet Rose”. Lovely.

More infor­ma­tion to fol­low, at this time I must relo­cate my per­son as my injured and bion­i­cally repaired foot is in the most dis­ad­ven­t­a­geous posi­tion and blood flows to my injury in the most uncom­fort­able of ways.

I will return to this sub­ject… later today.

Ahh­hhh

Mail Artist.

I

am.

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