I had not even flipped open Elisabeth Beliveau’s September Album, that I liked the zine already: the cover shows a galleon of sorts, floating blissfully on a bed of roses, an ode to romantic voyages-or is this simply a tribute to old-fashioned, kitsch porcelain figurines like my grandmother used to display on crocheted doilies? “Something to pet the cat about,” the zine states, further endearing itself to me. I flip the page. The pen and ink illustrations are beautiful. One drawing shows instructions on how to breathe: step one, a lung. Step two, a bird takes flight. I am in awe at the poetry displayed here, simplistically. Majestically. “Here in the city” one page reads, “I don’t even trust the stars not to be satellites.” I nod my head in agreement and peek out my window looking for unidentified lights, looking for the Montreal night sky. Every page of this zine takes my breath away, quickly and easily. I love the writing, and the artwork, the exquisite imagery, the seashells and the time, the thought, the effort put into drawing each feather on every wing of each bird that takes flight in September Album. The zine is full of melancholy and simple beauty, and Elisabeth Beliveau is an artist worth adding to one’s box of memories. (Andree Lachapelle)
Elisabeth Beliveau, litzine, [email protected]