The last city night before the backwoods of Kentucky to fabricate components for an August installation. The work calls me hours before I’m supposed to leave town to set itself in writing, having been made in the city, and not knowing whoever I am in the woods, shotgun-shooting, sleeping-outside creek walker. i’ll remember soon,

but tonight in the city studio the work etches itself

beginning with a light sculpture descending the lobby stairwell all the way to the floor. walk-through area at the bottom, lenses and rainbow makers, and above out of reach the wire material drops from the ceiling in stacked lightfall stalactites like roots that drape into caves, the people are contacting them, and this movement lightly transfers upward creating a living motion to the whole badass thing. so what’s it made of and what’s its main casting aspect? those aspects will come to light in the woods. on the porch. with frogs. but it had to be set here, in the city.

and plus about sprucing up my website

and the Seeing station

the work makes itself clear, every good trick shown up in Sunday shoes. right now the task is to plan what aspect of the project I’m going to make and manifest while in Kentucky, typing it all into the computer.

I look at the whole screen, the blank Pages 1 of 1 Words 3 of 3. anything’s a map of the mind. i think of the work, of getting on the stick of the work, communicate, that’s what to do, for the work, as in, that’s how to nurture it. i think of ball bearings rolling away, downhill in all directions, of hand fulls of sand sliding through my dumbfounded fingers. i wouldn’t know what to say

there is no trace of reflection