Jan Palethorpe

33 Ways to Wrap Christo

Jan Palethorpe

33 Ways to Wrap Christo



Edition Size



Etching, Screenprint, Silkscreen


Rives BFK


Cloth case, Hand-sewn


Artist Book


20 × 13 in


Chewton, Victoria


Primrose Press

$ 2,200.00

1 in stock

In gratitude, a homage to Jeanne-Claude & Christo Yavachev.
Text & photographs by Jan Palethorpe, bound by George Matoulas, screen printed text by Douglas Kirwan.

Bind him with undying love,
cover him in grass seeds
and wait ‘til they grow.
Rope him up inside a tarp,
take him camping
to the Great Sandy Desert.
Embalm his thin body in cocoa leaves and pearls,
in the mummy case of Artemidoros,
(that fine Greek who settled in Thebes).
Bandage the third finger of his left hand
let him know you understand …
Seal him in vine leaves and sink him in a jar,
marinate and pickle him
so he won’t stray too far.
Wrap him in gladness, glad wrap him tight
wrap up the negative space
unlace him at night.
Christo Rap (MP3) press and play
wrap up his dreams and dismay.

Blindfold and laminate
his penis
while he waits.
then bubble wrap
the air they breathed
-find funding,
strain through those moments
through a polystyrene sieve.
Plait him through
your true love’s hair
dreadlocked in moth’s wings below the stair.

Come wrap your arms around him
smother him in perfumed smoke.
A wicker basket,
an iron cloak.
Contain his grief,
stuffed with the briny tears of
Fine Art curators
in soft
cabbage leaves.

Wax him,
enrapture him,
make a caste of him.
Feed him to a whale shark
to swallow then spew
in war coral spawn
and salty spheres,
his deepest fear..
my stop whip and blanket.
Bury him deep
down below.
Immerse his worst ideas
but not too soon,
in the 12th Century Norman chainmail,
or a Doratifera Limacodidae cocoon.
My morning jacket embroidered
with raptors claw,
the sail of a baroque
glided past
Guardi’s triumphal arch.
Weigh his soul chained
inside the Prison Boab next March.
His frosted temples
and Li Qingzhao’s freeze
in a glacial ice age
with selected poems from the Song dynasty.
On second thoughts,
shoot him up into the Velcro blue
for 100 dark, light years
of solitude.

Hold that river,
carve out that gorge.
Spin a web around him,
suspend him,
like a golden orb
between two eucalyptus trees.
In the dreams of
(Guardian of coffins and canopic jars)
the Goddess of Neith.
In the feathers of truth,
the fragrant hide of Zeus
after Europa’s rape.
Roll him in timeless warp,
a funeral pyre
a lacey caul…is that all?
Alter him
with gentle orange music,
echoing through the Valley Curtain.
In crime and punishment
and a fortunate life.
Tie his neck
around and around
like they do in Kenya.
Entwine him
in the chords of Enya.
Christo, I will shed thee
my Amoria Ellioti,
like a costume of rock
a seaweed frock.
By the way
it’s not a shroud at all…
Candy says,
being so meaningless
so discretely