FINITE INFINITY

TUNDRA-VENICE: Chapter 2  (Chevac, Alaska — Venice, California)

 COREY STEIN from Sunland, California

April in Chevak, the laundry is out drying on the line at 10 degrees. My cousin Harry and his wife Lena kiss in the kitchen up in Chevac AK. I like how you can’t tell if Harry is leaving or just arriving home. The boys around town, Lena and Harry’s sons, cruse in their boat, sitting on a sled mobile in front of a used clothing store. (Corey Stein)

COREY STEIN, "Lena and Harry" 2008 Seed beads hand sewn on felt,  11-1/2" x 8"x 2" Courtesy of the artist

COREY STEIN, “Lena and Harry” 2008
Seed beads hand sewn on felt, 11-1/2″ x 8″x 2″
Courtesy of the artist

COREY STEIN, "Laundry at 10 Degrees"  2008 Seed beads hand sewn on felt,   9"x 12"x 2"

COREY STEIN, “Laundry at 10 Degrees” 2008
Seed beads hand sewn on felt,  9″x 12″x 2″   Courtesy of the artist.

There is a solitude of space

A solitude of sea

A solitude of death, but these

Society shall be

Compared with that profounder site

That polar privacy

A soul admitted to itself −

Finite infinity.

EMILY DICKINSON

COREY STEIN, "Quality clothing"  2008 Seed beads hand sewn on felt  11"x 16-1/2"x 2 Courtesy of the artist

COREY STEIN, “Quality clothing” 2008
Seed beads hand sewn on felt,  11″x 16-1/2″x 2″   Courtesy of the artist

To Corey, if I know something of her.

Images emerge from the safe of her soul. The door is open, the kitchen wall disappears.

Love-threads grow, perhaps, from the seed beads to grab people and scenes from far, far away. Her fingers sew them into the surface of felt.

White fills the artist’s eyes. It’s a blinding space. Light that moves the air with vibrations of other things but is, herself, invisible. Some snow, a jacket, a refrigerator. Like the wind, whiteness is captured through the things she moves, sweeping other colors away.

There is not only one person in one soul. One body. One house for many.

Pictures mislead for they are beautiful and the mind likes to be tricked. But they are not a gallery of stills hung in the mind’s walls; they are the love-thread working in Corey’s hands, her soul open to emotions of others. “You are all welcome,” she says. “But please, clean your shoes on the mat before you enter, too much reality can hurt.”

ROSANNA ALBERTINI