I think about:
How expressive gesture is a kind of self inscription. How the stroke is alive as it moves through time and, like time, is ultimately fleeting, ephemeral. How layers impregnated with ink or pigment are a metaphor for non-linear time and can be seen as an archaeology of the unconscious impulse. Stuff like that.
Poetry in motion…
I just had a thought…
And another thing...
There are places I remember...
It’s all there in black and white…
I bet you say that to all the girls...
I go round and round and round…
Driven to abstraction...
Subliminal...
