I studied it in school, and I know the name for it.
I can explain it to others, but I don't really understand it.
I experimented with it all of my life, but without getting better at it.
Some came close enough that we were always touching, some fell off, or
were pushed or ran away, some were made of stuff that
just didn't feel the push or pull of that invisible force-even as we pretended-while others couldn't even be pried off, holding fast as if life depended on it.
We certainly didn't realize how something that could bend
light and alter time itself, wasn't always strong enough to keep us together.
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| "I don't really understand how you're attracted to me." |
Woodblock print (mokuhanga) 8" x 8" on handmade Japanese washi. Edition size 30.
I have a seemingly careless collection of odd metal bits and pieces. Rows of mismatched jars
of things that might be useful, or that look like they're an essential
part of something or that I know I'm likely to need one day, or that
seem important or just not ready to be cast away. These things live in
an old cigar box in the pantry, and in rows of baby food jars on a shelf
in the garage, semi-sorted by one who doesn't really know if they
should be kept or even belong together. I've drawn a lot of these bits over the years, sometimes pulling them out and making actual portraits, or more commonly from memory, where they serve as symbols or ciphers for something else.
