Knot crossing lines...

I am struggling here.

I am struggling here to find a way into (or is that out?) of this.








I shall just have to have faith.

I come back, change a bit of punctuation.

I come back again.

I change a word to bold.

I change the order of the words in that line.

I look at it.

I make a bit more space there.

It's taken up with drips of paint.

Drips of paint...

Teettering on the brink.

Post or trash?
Post of trash?
Post or trash?

I hit post.

I enjoy that gesture.

I ignore my better judgement.

I am no judge.

Out in the open, I am at peace.

“Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art.”

Andy Warhol

In the meantime...

I have been delving into "Unflattening" by Nick Sousanis and thinking about text and images.

I have been back and thinking about Proust, Kerouac, Joyce and "stream of conscisousness".

I have been back and looked at Jackson Pollock and thinking about intentionality, about gesture.

I cut a line. I don't stop to wonder why.

I was excited to see replies from Kevin Hodgson and Terry Elliott to one of those posts of mine...

A vantage place.

Mine that Burning Heart https://t.co/cpriAiv24a A poetic response to @sensor63 #clmooc pic.twitter.com/f90fBsSwU7

— KevinHodgson (@dogtrax) August 3, 2015

I saw Terry's reply in Zeega form http://zeega.tellio.club/24

I was strung out along those lines. 

I am bound and tied.

Lines cross...

Is this what it's about?

I bound here...

Where is this bound?

I shall make a knot.

#clmooc pic.twitter.com/dI5MdSH5Hy

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) August 4, 2015