Mary Meigs (1917–2002) was a writer and artist, author of Lily Briscoe: A Self-Portrait,The Medusa Hotel, The Box Closet, In the Company of Strangers, and The Time Being, all published by Talon, as well as many articles and essays.
MARY MEIGS
Essays
Off- and On-Camera
Out on the set, except for the fact that there is always someone to catch us if we stumble, or someone to set up folding chairs for us between scenes, we are beneficiaries of the semi that denies the passing of clock-time. There is nothing to remind
MARY MEIGS
Essays
Freewriting
Mary Meigs and her friend Lise Weil, editor of Beyond Recall, met regularly to do freewriting together. For each exercise they chose a line or phrase from the work of a poet they both admired; then, inspired by that "prompt," both women wrote for five or ten minutes, recording whatever came to mind (and hand).
MARY MEIGS
Tripwire
They felt comfortable in their resemblances, too comfortable to note that the resemblances contained differences like tripwires cunningly laid and hidden.
MARY MEIGS
Essays
Being in the Company of Strangers
Our film is a semi-documentary. We are ourselves, up to a point; beyond this point is the "semi," a region with boundaries that become more or less imprecise, according to our view of them. In one sense, it is semi from beginning to end, for we would
MARY MEIGS
Tripwire
They felt comfortable in their resemblances, too comfortable to note that the resemblances contained differences like tripwires cunningly laid and hidden.
MARY MEIGS
Poetry
Keystroke
Mary Meigs wrote this piece in spring 2001 while she was recovering from a stroke, and which is reproduced here exactly as she typed it,
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MARY MEIGS
To My Death
I can measure you more or less In years, you in the shadows Of myself, and don’t I sometimes feel your Fingers round my throat?
MARY MEIGS
The Meeting
In the pre-time being, in the rehearsal period for the real, Marj wrote to Kate, "I’ve been doing exercises between visible and invisible, between imagining touch and really touching." At the moment of meeting they are not surprised by the alchemy th
MARY MEIGS
The Time Being
The real story is truer than fiction, Marj once thought. But where is the truth in an imaginary love story that grows from a correspondence between two old women, separated by the distance between New South Wales and Quebec?
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