when I'm looking
I see ellipses when I wedge clay, I see points of contact on the spinning wheel, I see places in places, and how all things fit into a package you can take away, but that it might leak before you get to put it in the fridge.
I see Philip Glass, and he is standing there, waiting for me with Einstein, and yes, yes they are on the beach. I see the park and George is in it and there are a lot of colors, I see colors in colors and flashes of light. The lightning in form of the nights past and the rain that dribbles on the pane when you are inside the studio and can only see that the night is black, but that it is beautiful, and will always be one of the most beautiful things.
a heavy fog of a night that’s unexplainable.
Like that time on the lake when we all told stories, and you were there and you were there, and no, no, not you, but she was there and so was I.
And I can always remember those moments, especially when I forget them, because that is how they live, when you forget to forget and remember it instead - and besides yourself or if you’ve remembered to forget something so that you can have it back and make it new, and then it can live, and then it can breathe.
You have to forget all that you know in order to remember.
Then you scan see.
Then I can see.
Then I can feel.
That, that is what.
That, that is how.
That, that is what I see when I’m looking.