I think of parabolic mirrors, and of directing a beam using reflection, how far will it go, under what circumstances?  Quick call the Doctors and ask what-the about how light behaves.  And the work has voices, it has broadcasting voices, and ventriloquisms, and the encountered under-spoken, and how do they travel, and where is the time to listen?  Crankity-back-back, fallen into my hands, as in, on the ground I found a little carnival glass disk.

iridescence and reflection are about location, perspective, perception.  Dick is slurring and pawing for the keyboard, something about iridescence and cloaking, about invisibility suits,   .

I want to talk about quantity of light, quanta of it, about dividing light, and luminosity, bundles of light, and by what feature of its energy is it measured.

I think of ways to capture the light midair without using textiles. Or fog. I think more about the photons criss-crossing and what must be their idea of direction. How do beams affect each other, how far can reflection be taken, show how the loss of light appears, what is the shape of it. because it’s about the reflecting materials, not the light.  I think of sensitive light-reading devices on their way now, that see the inside of the body, amid innumerable improbabilities and coincidences, x-ray style, by reading the cosmic rays that are presently and always passing through it.

pre-sent-ing, pre-sense-ing, laying out the experience of the viewer-self.  The total surprise of scale. Of placement. Of what the thing might possibly be in the building, buildings make scale agreements with objects and what happens, what is it to break those agreements?

My studio is a Darwinian coup. Like magic I have called to my fingertips pieces of crystal and glass, and electricity, a new kind of light, never before seen in the eyes or memories or paintings of man, called them right into my hands, having taken maybe 20 footsteps per thousands of keystrokes.  As a creature, for a creaturely thing to do, look how powerful the individual is, in the collective. It’s an exponential relationship, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it unfolds in the same patterns as light and reflection. The other space, of depth away, the lights in the elevator mirrors blinking endlessly into the vanishing point.

The new experiments are percolating, and the fortune telling.  The social aspect emerges now. I practice the fortune way, directly to the individual. not to make myself so easily misunderstood. the perpetual outsider insider.

I fell into a deep sleep and saw the sculpture that replaces the fabric sheeting. I might have to go to lightfair after all.  ‘Clean up!,’ Machine tells me, nearly channeling my old school crit partner, who set me on course more than once with insight, and new materials, and when necessary, wake-up-smell-coffee scoldings. She once shut my laptop for me, and another time she squashed my sculpture to prove it wouldn’t hold up to a crowd.  There’s ecstatic making, but not ecstatic administrative management. Prayer and meditation and ACIM and also object making.