We are living in the forest. The weather here is bad; but surly, cold clouds seem to make things special.The next change in the forest will bring an exiting type of permanence.
I have been making things that don't quiet fit together. These sculptures are sitting on my desk, their segments jutting out at uncomfortable angles when they should be smooth, seamless surfaces. Art always seems to be an effort of control. Not control of materials, which are perfect, but control of my own body. One day I hope to fully understand my hands, my movements.
I am fitting many things together. I am trying to form objects to suit all nooks and crannies. Some of these objects don't quite fit, but they are still beautiful, sublime. At times like this all I can do is know these objects, these feelings. Have them fill me, and engorged in beauty and love I am ultimately happy.