Stepping black into place here. Winter has frozen closed any number of distractions, and autumn birthed some different ones - quite literally. To sit in this studio with an infant in a basket changes my Practice considerably. In some ways the attitude of coming to the table and working is the same, familiar. In other ways its completely different, there is another consciousness here, and that little energy leans into the work however subtly.
hole rhythm and cold, alleway, home.
slush and salt paint, parking lot.
whose constellation is that? archaeoastronomy, bottom of the bag, Extra.
light of a particularly heavy, claylike quality. the floor, Campos.
sideswipe drawing, van, an alleyway.
light rhythm, inaudible cymbal crashes, the back stairwell, Rio Grande.
snow omen and boot treads, fleeting cleromancy, the porch, home.