messes
We all carry messes. We're mostly made of them. Bursts of neurons, neuroses, and nerve-endings. A jumble of atoms and molecules and insecurities. A system of synchronized chaos and anarchy, bundled into the shape of something seemingly functional.
Set to the beat of a heart pumping. Keeping time to the tension between our unwillingness to look squarely at our elegant catastrophe and our longing to discover it more deeply. This is where we find creativity.
Beckoning.
Calling.
Asking us to draw near.
Into the throng and density. The overgrowth of our own being. Into the wild idling at the center of everything.
It doesn't ask us to tame it. Or to add to the noise of the clamoring. But to listen.
Closely.
To hear the silence in middle of the clattering, and to turn it into something.
"[T]he most miraculous of all miracles", Huston Smith and Philip Novak say, is "That I sit quietly by myself", that I take the mess of all of it, and that I make things...
ICAD - Day 181 - 184
P.P.S. I have two digitally designed pieces that will be printed and displayed in a show at Zigwall Arts in Brazil. The title of the show is “That Type of Art”. It’s being organized and curated by an exceptional artist named Roger Monteiro (IG here). As the name might imply the show centers around typographic art. I’m excited to be participating. I only wish I could be there to see it in person.
Mesmerizing 🕊️
Duane, congratulations on being invited to the show in Brazil! May your your work be seen by more eyes and appreciated for the voice it carries.
This one really spoke to me. Gonna go take a walk now to let my mess untangle itself.