It’s a little like floating on a surfboard, watching for a wave – or spinning around and around, arms outstretched and eyes closed, in the rain. The book is done – no longer under my fingers but in distribution – and in its place is a vibrating emptiness. Birds are flocking already, as images and as objects. And so, with a lot of wire, some pliers, and some plaster cloth, a new world is underway.
Filed under: thinking
