Imagine a mountain range "read" as a soundwave.Gil Johnson
Time as a physical wave, the physical wave as sound, as music.
The wave on the ear, the brushstroke on stone.
Where water and brush touch stone, a spot without form. Where the brush moves, trailing water, a formless spot becomes the history of the evolving present, shapes the meaning of the brush, dictates new direction, evaporates, dissappears.
Brush as dancer, calligraphy as dance.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Weaving and Unweaving the Tale
1000 banana trees