Graphic Codes photographs and text by Dennis Tedlock
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Prologue
Wingtips mark the snow when a bird takes flight.
Worms flushed out by rain make trails on the surface of mud.
Birds make tracks in mud, tracks in snow, looking for something.
Engraver beetles eat their way through the inner bark of tree trunks.
Snakes make S-curves, lightning bolts zigzag.
Butterflies wear their identities on their wings.
A forefinger makes spots of soot on walls and ceilings.
Powder breaks off from a chalkstick and clings to stucco.
Pocketknives slit the aspen bark, scratch the cactus pad.
Penknives sharpen quills.
Ink-filled quills stain the fibers of pieces of paper.
Brushes mark squares of deerskin with red, yellow, blue, and black.
Needles spread dye beneath the surface of the skin.
Sharp-edged stones cut grooves in smooth sandstone.
Electrical charges make images in liquid crystal.
Power tools polish and cut the surfaces of tombstones.
Knife points incise the outer curves of bamboo sticks.
Spray cans make lines on plastered walls and cast-iron doors.
Hammers strike the ribbon and stencil the paper.
Vibrating pens record amplitude, pitch, and time on moving graph paper.
Pointed stones chip rows of white dots in black basalt.
Moveable type transfers ink to pieces of paper.
Buckshot makes multiple holes in the no trespassing sign.
Stones are arranged around an untouchable spot on the ground.
What lives in the cracks in the rocks is given a face.
Potshards and flint chips work their way up to the surface of the ground.
One line makes a worm track.
Two lines make an X.
Three lines make a bird track.
Five lines make the fingers of one hand or the claws of a bear paw.
Four or five lines are enough to figure a bird, a face, a monster.
Four or five attributes are enough to tell one god, one saint from another.
Four or five lines mark the vectors of unseen forces.
Four or five colors of yarn are enough to weave the image of an atomic explosion.
Questions are cut in the cold scapula of an ox.
Fire cracks open the scapula's answers.
Figures face left, face right, face the reader.
With their backs turned they would be illegible.
Hunters carve a row of bighorn rams on the cliff.
Explorers carve their own names and dates of arrival.
Chalk whitens the lines of graying petroglyphs.
Pens restore the faded words in printed sutras.
Blue and red ballpoint pens add notes to the margins of a typewritten script.
Felt-tipped pens add up numbers on printed endpapers.
Initials are carved in the surface of a wooden sign.
Newspaper clippings are pasted over handwriting exercises in an old copybook.
Words are spray-painted over printed posters.
Stacks of notes are nailed to the foot of a wooden cross.
Pictures of puppets are captioned with words the real puppets will speak.
A book of sutras is illustrated with a tipped-in picture of its own readers.
One page leads the reader to another.
One headstone leads the reader to another.
One poster is pasted over another.
One proverb contradicts the advice given by another.
More and more petroglyphs are added to the face of a cliff.
More and more notes are slipped into the cubbyholes of a writing desk.
More and more strings of rosary beads are hung from a hook.
Bamboo sticks bearing texts are strung together on a cotton cord.
Long strips of paper are folded back and forth, back and forth to make pages.
Sheets of printed, folded, and cut paper are fastened together along one edge.
Shells, stones, coins, and family photos are assembled on altars.
Artificial flowers and personal possessions mark the site of a highway fatality.
The moon waxes and wanes and changes the angle of its tilt.
Jackrabbit tracks in the snow are bigger and farther apart than cottontail tracks.
Yellow cactus blossoms have seen the sun more days than orange ones.
Weft threads repeat a design but change the colors.
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