It is when you have let go the tiller, are no longer steering, but holding the headsail at the precise angle for the swiftest, strongest catch of wind, that the best route is found. You have ceded the course to the elements beyond yourself. You are there, attentive, engaged, committed yet no longer captaining, no longer in charge. That is artmaking at its finest: when things gracefully unfold outside your sway. You merely untethered the idea from its mooring and set to sea with the elements not at your command but at your observation. And just like that, little dots emerge that seem merely interesting and amusing until it is that you step back and see that they divinely connect to form a thoughtful and concise constellation.
This is what happened while I made these two pieces. Things that seemed planned were not; it was only when I lifted my gaze to ponder what the piece needed next that I saw details fusing together forming a new story.
(The covers of Louisa May Alcott’s Jo’s Boys—chosen for their color and pattern—and the image of the boy on the orange cover, and spine—repeated to align with the plural…)
Water Babies fitting beside and insignia of a tint form amid waves…)