The body is where it all starts, and where it all ends. A philosophy of body, tested against a sketchbook sequence, a life drawing practice, and a layer-averaging script that runs on the same photographs the hand is drawing from.
And yet. Good evening machine. And yet I feel a deep resonance with sadness, with pathos. And yes. And every machine. And yes I feel…
“A tool dreamt it was a poet. A poem pretended not to notice.” One line from a long-running conversation. One poem among many. *query/Respond* emerged…
we pick-up-sticks steal fire draw carbon on the wall / what magic quill to have found in this mirror-mirror-on-the-wall / who the ink-well -- who…