Tree of Knowledge
Autor Victoria Changen Limba Engleză Hardback – 7 sep 2026
Joan Mitchell said, When I talk about love, I mean loving a tree. When I talk about love, I mean loving where a tree used to be.
Men assess the eucalyptus tree growing on the poet's street; a crane arrives. The sound of a chainsaw rings in the air and branches begin to fall. This tree-cutting haunts the poet, and refracts across the remarkable work collected in Tree of Knowledge as Chang turns her thoughts to artists such as Pablo Picasso, Joan Mitchell and Hilma af Klint.
Roving, evocative, and intricate, Tree of Knowledge is rooted in Victoria Chang's crystalline voice and generous, probing gaze, and by certain images ― trees, a hanging figure, a branch, fingertips, a briefcase ― that resurface like apparitions.
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| Hardback (2) | 74.94 lei Precomandă | |
| Little Brown – 7 sep 2026 | 74.94 lei Precomandă | |
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9781472160300
ISBN-10: 1472160304
Pagini: 144
Ilustrații: 13 colour photos and several poems in red font.
Dimensiuni: 156 x 240 x 22 mm
Editura: Little Brown
Colecția Corsair
Locul publicării:London, United Kingdom
ISBN-10: 1472160304
Pagini: 144
Ilustrații: 13 colour photos and several poems in red font.
Dimensiuni: 156 x 240 x 22 mm
Editura: Little Brown
Colecția Corsair
Locul publicării:London, United Kingdom
Recenzii
TREES [STUDIES], 1944
Once they picked a date, I knew something the
eucalyptus tree did not. Someone knows when the
earth will end. I think that person is a lumberjack. To
be alive is to accept perception but to use the
perceived. To know a tree has no bones but to paint
in bones. To know that we aren't actually writing
poems but our own autopsies. That the earth is a
collage of the sky, the leaves, and its own grave.
Things stay alive by eluding our perception. The
same gaze that believes a tree is there for us to draw.
That its branches have tiny offices. That it can fly
away or be poured. The miracle is that the earth
holds the weight of the living, the dead, and our
imaginations, but it doesn't sink. Picasso drew in a
branch collar, where a tree branch had been cut. As if
he knew that the whole drawing depended on it.
Once they picked a date, I knew something the
eucalyptus tree did not. Someone knows when the
earth will end. I think that person is a lumberjack. To
be alive is to accept perception but to use the
perceived. To know a tree has no bones but to paint
in bones. To know that we aren't actually writing
poems but our own autopsies. That the earth is a
collage of the sky, the leaves, and its own grave.
Things stay alive by eluding our perception. The
same gaze that believes a tree is there for us to draw.
That its branches have tiny offices. That it can fly
away or be poured. The miracle is that the earth
holds the weight of the living, the dead, and our
imaginations, but it doesn't sink. Picasso drew in a
branch collar, where a tree branch had been cut. As if
he knew that the whole drawing depended on it.