{"id":909,"date":"2009-08-12T21:22:56","date_gmt":"2009-08-13T04:22:56","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/anotherbb\/wp\/2009\/08\/eroyn_franklin_-_glorious_days\/"},"modified":"2009-08-12T21:22:56","modified_gmt":"2009-08-13T04:22:56","slug":"eroyn_franklin_-_glorious_days","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/anotherbb\/2009\/08\/eroyn_franklin_-_glorious_days.html","title":{"rendered":"Eroyn Franklin – Glorious Day @ Nothing Factory"},"content":{"rendered":"

Eroyn Franklin<\/a> debuts her new book of hand-cut images and text, Another Glorious Day At The Nothing Factory<\/i><\/a>, at Fantagraphics Bookstore & Gallery<\/a> Aug. 22, 6-9 p.m. <\/p>\n

As the title suggests, it’s a Northwest memoir.<\/p>\n

\"eroynfranklintrip.jpg\"<\/span>ON FAMILY
\nROAD TRIPS WHEN I WAS LITTLE I LAID DOWN IN THE BACK SEAT OF THE
\nMINIVAN.  I WOULD ARRANGE MY HEAD SO THAT WHEN I LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW
\nALL I COULD SEE WERE CLOUDS.  I WOULD PRETEND WE WERE FLYING AND THAT
\nTHERE WAS NO SUCH THING AS LAND.  WHENEVER A TALL TREE OR A TELEPHONE
\nPOLE WOULD CAREEN INTO MY LINE OF SIGHT I WOULD CLOSE MY EYES AND
\nSQUEEZE OUT ITS MEMORY, THE MEMORY OF SOIL. <\/font><\/p>\n

\"eroynfranklinlove.jpg\"<\/span>HE WAS BORN
\nON THE DARKEST DAY OF THE YEAR.  A FACT THAT SEEMED TO COINCIDE WITH
\nHIS DEMEANOR.  I LOVED HIS SADNESS, NOT THE MAKING OF HIS SORROW, BUT
\nITS AUTUMNAL  KINDRED QUALITY.  ITS SUBTLE PERVASIVENESS SO SIMILARLY
\nALIGNED WITH MINE.  HE WAS LIKE A DOLEFUL GRANDFATHER WHOSE MOMENTS
\nCOULD BE BRIGHTENED SO HANDSOMELY BY HIS BROOD.  I SO RARELY GOT TO
\nDRAW THIS OUT IN HIM, NOT ON HIS FAULT, BUT BECAUSE I WAS LAZY WITH OUR
\nLOVE.  LAZY BEING THE LEAST BAD THING I CAN SAY ABOUT MY BEHAVIOR. <\/font><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Eroyn Franklin debuts her new book of hand-cut images and text, Another Glorious Day At The Nothing Factory, at Fantagraphics Bookstore & Gallery Aug. 22, 6-9 p.m. As the title suggests, it’s a Northwest memoir. ON FAMILY ROAD TRIPS WHEN I WAS LITTLE I LAID DOWN IN THE BACK SEAT OF THE MINIVAN.  I WOULD […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-909","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-uncategorized","7":"entry"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/anotherbb\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/909","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/anotherbb\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/anotherbb\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/anotherbb\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/anotherbb\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=909"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/anotherbb\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/909\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/anotherbb\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=909"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/anotherbb\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=909"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/anotherbb\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=909"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}