I just collected eggs. Judith’s offering was gloriously imperfect, perhaps even mildly abstracted. Her approach to creating is fantastically organic. Don’t you think?
Yesterday, out in the studio, I was pushing myself so hard to bring something “novel” to my work that my efforts fell flat, trembled with some caustic and synthetic overtone instead of the deep, crushing, textured velvet of organic emanation…on days like that, I wish I was like Judith pushing out wonky little mildly abstracted eggs, not thinking of anything in particular while doing my work, perhaps even working involuntarily, like a heart beat or the tickled twitch of withers on a horse fending off flies in summertime sunshine…
There’s something so satisfying about the accidental and the serendipitous. The surprise turns in creative work might be my favorite part. The stumbled upon. The ideas gone so wrong that turn out to be so righteous and genuine.
My hands want to speak honestly, always, and I suppose, even when I force them into foreign motions, there is good that comes from that too.
I always keep in mind that everything leads somewhere, even if it falls down, flat on its face, from time to time.
An egg can be lumpy.
An egg can be perfect.
But in the end, an egg is still an egg.
…whatever that means.
:::EDIT:::
Believe it or not, this egg was NOT a double yolker!
Shocking!
An egg can be lumpy.
An egg can be perfect.
But in the end, an egg is still an egg.
…whatever that means.
:::EDIT:::
Believe it or not, this egg was NOT a double yolker!
Shocking!
