ripples in the wake

You can set things up however you like. You can build them or buy them or paint them or carve them. You can set that block down and look at it from all sides. This decision of intent and deliberation is yours. These bricks. This planter. This effigy. The decision is yours. But when you set something down or jot something down or sketch something out it goes splashing though the ground and disappears. What you thought was yours is gone and how can you predict the ripples that are left in its wake?

lazy day

Living life to the fullest while reclining. Neglecting all sorts of responsibilities. Artistic projects go sailing unrealized through my grasp. I tend to dance around those little helium balloons and tug at their strings. a constant struggle to bring them within reach until they start to sag and sink and become manageable. I dip them into clay slip and fire them to a thin and brittle shell. A skeleton of what they were and a shadow of what they could be.  Finished art seems a shell. I like it with strings unknotted and sails whipping out of control. Today goes blazing by and I lay tired and uninclined to do anything. Today goes blazing by and I go blazing through it on my couch chariot. My psychic bobsled.