20 October 2010. Gray morning. Gopher and vole...residents of the underground. Notes therefrom. As when Jack's head appeared suddenly from under the large white kraft-paper meditation chamber. Well, that's what he called it. Image of suburban living room, somewhere in the south bay, setting this up on the rug and crawling in. His mother's worried face--pulling the curtains... To maintain appearances...
But all of us, appearances, for short or for long. A volatile expanse of white foam core, dented and marred--puddle of india ink running this way and that, words (illegible at first) carved out along geometric lines. Anger at the universe becomes a form of liberation: I can do this.
Something positive in the act, regardless. A masked face, dark, sheathed in white. Leaves along delicate lines of feeling...
Grain...
No comments:
Post a Comment