Something Tangible.

thoughts on spinning thoughts.

My basic intention with writing was always to wrap my head around and move my invisible thoughts from spinning concepts in my noggin to something more linear and coherent. Something tangible. Black and white. Okay, teal and white.

Ideas remain ephemeral like the wind, formless, disappearing and reappearing in an instant. It's not until they are put down that for me that they somehow exist in the material.

I love sculpture that can take a single wire and could with enough turns around and around in spirals, create a form. something emerging from a single line. Or like a crocheted sweater. One single unbroken thread could create something with a purpose, to make you warm and cozy and give a sense of your fashion based on the design and color. Or a woven basket, around and around creating something useful to hold something else.

A thread of thought, put down in volumes of notebooks, somehow giving form to the invisible that has only existed in the caverns of my insides. It helped me stay sane, it helped me look back and identify patterns. It helped me self-reflect and slow down the thoughts just enough to have them be witnessed. I learned to be the witness as I wrote. A meditation that has been my grounding and clarity since the age of 11.

Yet sometimes it feels a bit dizzying to go round and round so many times until the thing exists in the physical world. Putting my insides, outside feels raw. Like they are exposed and tender. Like meat, cut up and in plastic waiting in a shop for someone to buy it and eat it for dinner. I get why it’s taken me a long time to put it out there. But it all connects in the end I suppose. Not mine anyway.