About Last Night.

I found some wood a few minutes after I walked out of Blick where I picked up the most basic of supplies in all of eleven minutes or less. In any case, the the cost of the tiny haul was a little over eleven bucks. It consisted of 9×10 artist pads. One newsprint. The other tracing paper. (Both dirt cheap.) Three pens. Fine and ultra fine Sharpies. Plus a German born black ink, fine 0,4 Stabilo pen.

At Capital One’s cafe on Union Square, I scribbled the majority of these characters on the newsprint paper I’d purchased while waiting for my phone to charge before I headed to the Bronx. A continuation of the ‘study’ I started that morning on the reverse of the negative metallic ink on black paper I investigated.

This wood piece I worked on was the least filty of the group of four I selected from and pulled from the street. I didn’t wipe it down or treat it. I just dove in placing one full page of sketches, followed by a few cut out from other premade pages and arranged. After bit of paint and doctoring, the rest is history. Very brief history.

A quick and fun project.

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When The Student Is Ready…

The teacher appears. I fathom the teacher is ever present, just invisible because perhaps our egos deliberately stand as opaque figures in our respective lines of site. Or more likely they are cloaked. One is lucky enough to develop a way of thinking early that looks at the puzzle of life as a series of challenges to meet, engage, build a gainful relationship with and ultimately divorce (in some cases.) Enthused by the opportunity to think laterally. To find or even feel the lessons and bliss or both in cognition.  The magic that pulses between each breath of thought. A myriad of things may rob one of this chance. Tradition and intelligence often are nefarious participants in what some conspiracist would deem a ruse which purpose is to keep you from a knowing. Funny though, in order for one to know or ‘be’, one has not the time to busy themselves with conspiracy.

There are no shortages of teachers in life, for true living is a constant education.

Do you want to learn? Is the question.

Are you open to learning? Is the followup.

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Why Aren’t I Writing?

I could say yesterday I slit the side of the tip of the middle finger on my right hand and it’s difficult.  Obviously it is possible. I’ve typed what you’re reading up to this point, so what other excuses do I have? None. I just haven’t thought enough about writing to actually do it or thought to actually make a move on the keyboard in vehement fashion.  The truth of the matter is there are a plethora of things I’m passionate about it. Perhaps I need more passion about being passionate. As of late though I have been very creative. I’ve been reminding myself to create regularly because alas that is why I am here. So I shall do the same with writing. Basically create the new habit. (How do I now trigger it?!) I do not like to ‘waste’ time. Writing into the void and noise of the internet can feel a futile act. Still, I know better. Even if the exercise is just for me, putting a vibe out matters in the larger scheme . Fini.

 

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