on the new year

an inheritance of moldy books,
gifted to the flames
crackle and peel or fly on hot currents.
leaves rustle above and scatter below.

Already the end of the first month, I only just seem to be catching on to the new year of double 1s. Lots of things are floating in the air ready to be plucked and experienced and I couldn't be more excited about the year to come. There's always more to be said and more to show and I'm always relieved to see and hear from my blogger friends. What will we make this year? What will we gather close and nurture or burn and bury?


stare time

The third and most recent manifestation of my spindle drawing proves to me that abstraction can be tricky in numbers. When two or more abstractions sit together, they reach towards one another like curious infants, grasping strands of similarities and examining differences. The search for meaning springs from their nebulous forms and slowly those likenesses and differences fold in upon themselves, gathering complexity. Soon they are babbling.

Traces of Spun #3 (in progress)
graphite on paper, 22 x 30"

I resist the easy, stop to stare, to peek through the veil of possibilities, then work again, each step progressing the forms and progressively slower.
Careful, there is no return to a simpler state.



and layering
Portions of this week went to my Brooklyn Art Library sketchbook. The entire book itself sketches out one of the books/collections of drawings that have been haunting me,
and now made solid
Wisps of thought solidify and blur out again,
Layered galaxies,
extracted DNA strands,
microorganisms writhing, swimming in a sea of white,


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