It feels good to work with my hands. Connecting thought to movement and movement to shaping a form. I have missed it, the creativity of it.
I can smell wood on my hands, hickory, red elm. Red elm has a nutty aroma. When you work hard maple with a block plane, golden curls fall to the floor, each one a beautiful song.
Oh, I could immerse myself in this kind of work, but there is a chance it will not pay. Do I need a salary? This work may fill all need, except the worldly.
1 comment:
hmmmm . . . p, i think it's interesting how you say here "connecting thought to movement and movement to shaping a form." in your last post, you said "i cling to my old form . . . that old familiar form holds me in place."
maybe they are not related, but i still find it interesting.
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