The images are shrouds from my Red Trees project - red material that was wrapped around cut trees and left for one year while impressions were made by the sun. This prayer book is part of a collection of handmade books, a library in progress.

All words stem from trees.
My name is Lee. In Sri Lanka my name means wood.
I fell to earth.  I had not a choice as to where.  I did not know what historical moments I was to witness.

Before wood my name expressed the nautical, moving water and warmth started my life. The position of the sun gave me direction, the moon told me secrets. I was asked to remember my beginning. (such a difficult task)

I stood in a sea of many together. Our hands touching created a lace canopy. Our feet, tangled gently, helped us not to fall. Such intimacy causes compassion and annoyance.  We grew up and we grew down. We saw light and felt dark.  (the stairway that you hear of)

While growing, there were many close calls to my life and how I was to be.  Sometimes drought came and I would wonder how to quench my thirst.  Rolling sweat of amber tears, those future jewels of elder sun, bore trails down my youthful body.  (I wanted to die, but did not know how)

And erosion that moves the earth affected me. I got bitter cold and chapped by the shifting plates of rock and churning crust.  The skin of my roots became so sensitive that pain belonging to others seeped in. (I knew how to die, but found it not right)

I was trampled upon many times, bent and pressed down.  I did not stay. I rose up, looking pathetic, but, this is what i am to do.  I saw slashing and burning, some trees began to cry and never stopped. (don't tell me you had not noticed)

To many this very nature is a threat.  The response is controlling and shortsighted.  Tempting branches are snapped off as a belonging.  Collections are hidden under the dense pillows of those that continue in sleep. (sad, unwise yet true)

Others have plunged knifes and metal teeth into myriads of fleshy torsos.  They did not hear the screaming.  I yelled out the secrets of the moon, yet, they only heard their own laughter and applause as they took parts of me and moved others out of the way. (somehow we find purpose from needless battles)

A dragon, snake or lizard would come to aid me and for this we all confirmed a truth about our origin.  A truth that is never to change and soon will be accepted by more then a few. There is still time for conversion. (you sense this)

Neglect traveled to many places in many forms, but, I am not discouraged. We so determinedly and generously nurture with shade. As expected, some shiver and choke and fade from view while under our care.  Others, influenced by darkness only, are angered by an unbalanced burden and withdraw to form an illusion of life.  But, thousands (millions) benefit greatly basking in low light, growing strong themselves and ignoring all that is seen but the days that are created. (focus, please see in your mind)

Sometimes there are storms that spill from above.  This does not terrify me.  It is our strength. The lightening taps and releases a shock to the ground.  I feel the jolts as kisses that fill me with trust and clarity in knowing the motive of the moon.  The wind whips about and tells the story of why we are here. It is the only way to go, through dimness to where nothing is so much of something. (poets call it lunar knowledge)

Over decades I grew strong, tall and deep, towards the sky where the force reaches down for me, as my roots sliced the tight dirt, crushing rock to soften the center.  As I grew others joined me, some draped like soft laundry, others requiring effort, like a bloody animal skin hung to dry.  My bark becomes hard yet not so thick as to render me unavailable.  (breathe, release)

Many make wishes that moved me to thought.  Some even weep and kneel to grasp soils of our globe.  Others are blinded by their own needs, an ancient greed.  They walk with idle hands above the dust on an empty road lined with possessions.  They take my breath and curse my hollow void. I sink down and look upward to tolerate fruitless patience. (time is and must be so elusive)

Others, you, walk by quietly, like the silent river that I rest by.  They, you, know the secrets of the moon and have always one wish, forever.  They, you, watch the leaves, needles, cones and blossoms come and go. We watch sunlight move deeply and see where it goes, and how all things are made, at once and together. (so grateful you are here, aware, knowing what to do)

I was finally made wood.  I don't get scared anymore from the strange and unreasonable attachment to solid; a temporary state not worthy of burning desire.  Do not be concerned. What follows can be most amazing. (the wind has proven this) what follows can not be said. (the wind has explained)

My name is still the very old word, Lee. Somewhere the word means glade, the space between the forests, the shelter where wood is pushed through the air and made free as the light that pardons gravity.  I stood in the middle of it all and now you don't even see me.  The courage of trees is here for you to follow. (the moon shines to remind us that it is not over)

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This handmade book in a box is 8" x 5"  with a linen cover, an embossed foil stamp, and a bookmark made from 2 stages of Red Trees (original fabric and sun bleached) and is enclosed in a box also lined with fabric from the project.

I wrote the words in 2000 and handwrote the words 2003.  The design, and the preparation of files for printing, was lead by my friend Maria Grillo of Grillo Group.   In 2004 the book was hand bound by my friend Bari Zaki of Ardour Bookbinding.

The Red Trees Prayerbook is an edition of 1-18.
Editions 18 thru 10 are in private collections, edition 1 is part of my library