I hold the work like a drop of water on a leaf, bouncing and nearly overfull already by itself, never mind the river.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m ready to talk about what the light is doing in my studio experiments with people who view it as a scientific phenomenon, to hear about it from that perspective. \u00a0I purse my lips sideways about today being the day to write the letter to the spectrograph, er, spectography, er, spectroscopy people.\u00a0 It just is time, despite my lack of desire to do it at this time, I now know the qualities of the True Voice of the Muse. \u00a0I quiet myself and lean in, listening,<\/p>\n
\u2018time for the words,\u2019 it tells me, \u2018just ask what the words are, it doesn\u2019t have to change your life.\u2019 \u00a0I can\u2019t be sure Muse actually remembers or cares what can happen with live-in-the-moment curiosity. \u00a0I could get flung into completely new territories of exploration, with science measures and numerals, and laws of waiting around for readability to emerge from arresting, mysterious ways. \u00a0Muse gives me the eye by way of the drawing on Cholera<\/em>\u2019s book cover, and psychically reminds me, all the way through the worn, curling paperback gaze, that I\u2019m being told to write a letter, not a story.<\/p>\n Anyway I intentionally already tricked myself, saving Other the trouble, by writing it in an earlier email to someone else.\u00a0 I barely want to touch the world, for getting back to the optics, so much to prepare in the studio, the table with the lenses, the panels, and Malevich on the other side of the curtain, all the emails and how-do-you-do\u2019s, plus amazing art I’ll see and more I’ll miss. \u00a0I\u2019m counted only enough to be said to not be around much.\u00a0 The best I can do is send back good pictures.<\/p>\n And then there is contemplating Universe work, I can\u2019t treat anything besides physical fabrication with single-mindedness.\u00a0 \u2018I wuuuunder whhy,\u2019 I say out loud in the room, in a spooky, no-duh voice.<\/p>\n How deep and wide cavernous and onward ever shiny newly familiar like only The Maker and Miles Davis can forever and ever with no note ever belabored be.\u00a0 Don\u2019t give it a future… run the light through the optics, so simple. name them to leave them open. \u00a0are we sure, moving forward, that we understand as much as we can about light?<\/p>\n Maybe it\u2019s enough to just look at the blinking curser, like a lover in the doowar .\u00a0 Dick is indeed so gnarky. \u00a0doowar is so much better than doorway. Maybe it\u2019s enough to just look at the blinking curser, like a lover in the doorway. But like everything else, as soon as you even see it, it changes.<\/p>\n My hand goes up.\u00a0 And I wait, and wait, aand wait percolates in my nearly five fingers waggling the progressive question that burns my rotator cuff and leaves me holding one hand up at the elbow with the other.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I hold the work like a drop of water on a leaf, bouncing and nearly overfull already by itself, never mind the river. I\u2019m ready to talk about what the light is doing in my studio experiments with people who view it as a scientific phenomenon, to hear about it from that perspective. \u00a0I purse … Continue reading doowar<\/span>