Sometimes, my brain goes to places I don’t expect, thinks up things I cannot understand where they come from, I never question it, I just accept it and do my best to make sense of whatever it is. The other day, I had this strange idea for art, that it’d be beautiful to attach lights to the ends of limbs, then in total darkness, make love in a photograph. I wondered what the light trails would look like, I wondered what drawing it would paint, this swirling sensuality. I wondered what would come from passion, from light, from passion made light. That is where this poem came from, a strange image that instead of passing off as a silly daydream or an odd break in my day, I allowed to brew like tea in the back of my mind. I think too often we push strange thoughts away, rather than giving them the weight they deserve, rather than turning them into the art they already are.
Typewriter Series #3074 | 1.23.21
Sometimes, my brain goes to places I don’t expect, thinks up things I cannot understand where they come from, I never question it, I just accept it and do my best to make sense of whatever it is. The other day, I had this strange idea for art, that it’d be beautiful to attach lights to the ends of limbs, then in total darkness, make love in a photograph. I wondered what the light trails would look like, I wondered what drawing it would paint, this swirling sensuality. I wondered what would come from passion, from light, from passion made light. That is where this poem came from, a strange image that instead of passing off as a silly daydream or an odd break in my day, I allowed to brew like tea in the back of my mind. I think too often we push strange thoughts away, rather than giving them the weight they deserve, rather than turning them into the art they already are.
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