August 21, 2018

artist statement

Two days ago, it rained so hard there was nothing to do but look out the window
and make vague, circular movements on my lap with my thumb. This morning,
I considered the petals downed from the storm and the arrangement they might make
on a sidewalk, but the light turned green and I left them among cigarettes smoked
all the way down to the filter. A guitar, unplayed, leans against my living room wall,
a bright red pick threaded through the lower strings. Sometimes I look at my fingers,
notice their mechanical journey toward the remote control, the umpteenth box of spaghetti,
the handles of a laundry basket or the blue recycling bin. There is so little quirk to add
to these tableaux; their palette stays in limited shades of putty and beige and cream.
The landscape hardly looks like much, but my hands are in the middle of a different dream.