Small studies, singular incarnations and records of curious, brief encounters:
I like best to work in series, to fish out an idea that captivates me and follow it as far as it goes. That being said, these ideas are far from isolated things and they’re always attached to a great numerous other things which all, in turn, are stuck together with everything else. So, naturally, the ideas i try to focus in on inevitably draw me away from them, as a single element of a piece causes a door into another room to creak open.
It’s as if, while i’m working, a neighbor barges in to ask if it might borrow a pound of milk, a pound of peacock feathers, a mortar and pestle and a sturdy line from a poem that one of us forgot to write. Well, of course, i’m curious about what the hell is going on next door and on occasion i accept the invitation, shouted in eloquent gibberish, as the stranger exits, leaving the door wide open so that the smell of fresh paint and fire wafts in.
This is where these orphans come from.