The rough and raw, the “Untamed and Uncut,” the hairy and confusing, the unrefined and unrestrained, the slippery and sleek, the cool and calibrated, the austere and rudimentary.
The cycling of images, smells, tastes, and feelings circulate throughout my head on any given day.
Pushing and wrestling with clay.
Consider how some objects are humble and still yet others take up all the air in the room— what kind of balance am I interested in striking?
The refined appeal of a luscious surface stands in sharp contrast to its rough landscape on which it sits. A slow gradient from one color to another loses no inherent definition except by comparison. No color exists in a vacuum.
Process is a wonderful thing, but let it dominate a creation, and it will consume itself.
What a wonderful thing it is to create— to bring into fruition an idea or a feeling— and to nurture something with care and attention. A feeling of restlessness might be a close acquaintance of making, and still more than feeling restless is that somehow even the thoughts or emotions that one experiences, even in the farthest reaches of the mind, have a more cumulative end in sight. It can feel daunting to create, if one lets it; letting go, instead, and choosing to sit with the questions for a moment rather than dig tirelessly seems like the sound route to take. How much energy it takes to strive for grandiosity when a humble idea speaks with equal weight— humility is not at odds with ambition. Austerity and humility, opulence and extravagance, composure and collectivity, and roughness and rawness all hold seats at the table. A mean person only exists in contrast with a nice one, so do not be quick to judge.
Being aware of history is helpful but not a prerequisite to make. It can inhibit rather than inspire to know what has been made.
Humid nights in the heat of the summer, the smell of the rain on concrete, the wet sunsets— can I still be inspired by sunsets?
The feeling of air-conditioning after being in the wet heat for a while is a memorable feeling.
Walk with your feelings for a moment, and walk to their pace, not yours. Do be mindful of the cracks in the sidewalk as they will keep you humble. The cool condensation in the morning, the ripples of heat waves above the piping surface, and the subtle evaporation of water in the early evening as the termites make the light sources their dance party. Goosebumps form when I walk back inside the air-conditioned room after swimming. I press my cool hand on my belly, and I am reminded of how quickly my body picks up changes in temperature. I won’t forget the first time we kissed like that.
Going with mom and Brendan and Avery to Sam’s Club was memorable. She was buying stuff for us and (mostly) the shop— her fourth child. The giant posters above the café portrayed almost cosmetically perfect images of hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza, and Coca-Cola, so naturally we were drawn to its rich colors and savory allure. Getting gas was essential because Sam’s Club prices were so competitive, and the smell of gasoline steeping in the Expedition while we were buckled was rich.
Hugging my dad when he came home from work never ceases to remind me of the smell of his clothes— he did IT, but in my mind he did everything, of course. He took apart a computer for my kindergarten class, and every kid got to take home a different part. His office was sort of bland, and the company was faceless, but he had a plethora of older computer parts that appealed to my imagination.
Sifting through my thoughts is helpful as I recall how I experience, how I sense, how I feel, and how I want to continue.
Nothing needs to be monumental in size to be important in one’s head.
Star Wars was always a source of inspiration, and I had an encyclopedia of the prequels and sequels that I faithfully memorized. That and the God of War 2 cut scenes when Kratos would kill a god or titan were rather grotesque to a young altar boy like myself.
I give my mind space to collect itself, and I make with the same principle.