A voice, much older than me says, “On a cold day, I go to turn on the heaters and look up to see little miracles in the wet. It’s a very old art. I’ve always enjoyed it. Nobody bothers much with it these days, everyone is preoccupied with product.”
I look up at the church/Stables Art Studio roof and I see a man and a woman. Spooks in my shared space studio. I begin a canvas this way. With such a stain. Then I look at the play and make what I see in that more obvious.
I observe, I sense, I translate. It isn’t an illness. It’s called reading into what is out there and sharing the idea. It’s what artists like to do.
