Sand, Glue, Time
Brushing on the glue, sprinkling on the sand.....thickening...building...
the skeletal structures of thought made manifest....mano/hand...late into night.
Early morning back in the studio..with the aid of music...dropping deeper into that realm. The realm that is as painful as it is intoxicating, full of wonder and loneliness. Here tears are pushed up out of my eyes...inexplicable feelings, intensity that I have no words for...so much felt/seen...and I do not know how to speak it. I have art.
I long for company in this realm, someone to come join me...but it is impossible. How can I open the door to THIS room. I would like to. But it is not the same room someone else would enter...yes, the spaces are superimposed...but I am 'here'...and if/when someone would enter the studio, I would go join them...pass over to the studio they see, I would leave this other realm. I would not know how to explain why I had been crying, or how the past, present and future had just swirled me up in a whirlwind in one space...compressed into each inch of my inward/outward gaze. I would not know how to explain how the sweater on the chair was mine and Darlene's and a grandmother's and a stranger's, a woman whose life I entered on a whim.
the skeletal structures of thought made manifest....mano/hand...late into night.
Early morning back in the studio..with the aid of music...dropping deeper into that realm. The realm that is as painful as it is intoxicating, full of wonder and loneliness. Here tears are pushed up out of my eyes...inexplicable feelings, intensity that I have no words for...so much felt/seen...and I do not know how to speak it. I have art.
I long for company in this realm, someone to come join me...but it is impossible. How can I open the door to THIS room. I would like to. But it is not the same room someone else would enter...yes, the spaces are superimposed...but I am 'here'...and if/when someone would enter the studio, I would go join them...pass over to the studio they see, I would leave this other realm. I would not know how to explain why I had been crying, or how the past, present and future had just swirled me up in a whirlwind in one space...compressed into each inch of my inward/outward gaze. I would not know how to explain how the sweater on the chair was mine and Darlene's and a grandmother's and a stranger's, a woman whose life I entered on a whim.