I spilled the ink on the surface of the glass, milky underlayment and light flowing from beneath. There was light, showing through from the shadows, the street bound — lights, emerging. That floated the ink, so it whirled on the glass, and I spun the movements with my fingertips.

And as I spun the circles, spinning and whirring the lines of the ink, my fingers and fingernails, blackening the fingerprints — these prints become other prints, and share in the deepening of drawing — which goes down, and down, deeper into other whorl and the whirl of the idea.

I think about the idea, that going deeper, I’m pulled in, the mind, the memory, the story — they whirl, twirl and whirr — and I keep going in, going deeper. As the water swirls, so too the ink, two — fingers black, that tell the same story.

There are two layers to the meditation. One, the drawing becomes the contemplation — that movement weaves the openings to the something deeper — the gestures are the scribing to another mind. And then the drawing becomes the charting — it isn’t about the marking movements, it’s about the meaning of the markings. Keep that moving, to the mind, to the drawing.

Be, that moving. That whirling into the other places, in the library of the mind, the palace of the memory, the galleries of imagination.

It’s drawn, listened to, recalled and memorialized.

t |

the old queen anne hill
the motion work | emotional reels: