It begins with the matter at hand, the curve of a road, the incidental movement of a passing figure, a glance, an ending.
I start to build narratives; extended complex thoughts. Complexity and thought which is art, that involves reading through some distance. Staying in the thought, the incidence, going back through it from within.
Entering, I find that the whole is so related to every part that whether one reads horizontally, vertically, diagonally or even in reverse, the logic of the whole is not disrupted but remains intact.
I feel it breeding its own actuality, its idea, its real and the maps of every thread of in-between. Maps, rooms, pasts, presents, loves, towering monuments of insatiable becoming. Possibility squared. [Ad Infinitum]
These are mine, and I am giving them to you. What emerges is that I am always trying to obliterate them, begging to buy them back with something that is better to give. To offer or to erase.
These are beginnings.