Not knowing, not caring.

 I'd like to talk a little about not knowing...that place we go to as we create; not knowing quite why we feel compelled to make a certain gesture, or mark or stitch or word...we just know we have to.

 I was given this beautiful handmade lace collar by a friend. It had a special place on my wall, waiting....then, recently, I just knew what to do with it. I didn't need to know why, I don't need to know why. The reason was like a fleeting shadow in my mind, then it was gone. No matter.















  I love handmade paper; irregular, smooth, receptive, responsive to my touch.

I'm reading Agnes Martin's Writings with great pleasure and resonance.

I like linen thread. I like words. I like stitching through soft, thick paper. It's slow, rhythmic, peaceful, stitching this lace onto the paper.

I wrote my words, I wrote Martin's words; an act of homage and of connection.

I don't mind that I don't know the cognitive rationale behind my doing this act over several days, it felt right.

I'm glad.