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Studies in serendipity…
What consolation is there for the painter, say, who, upon completing the careful execution of a fine little picture with his right hand, looks down and is transported by the raw and swirling beauty of the palette in his left? These cascading and volute shapes are simple exultations in form. Their elemental complexities are to sculpture what birdsong is to music. Stop, attend, and they will insinuate pattern and significance. Pattern and significance, now relegated to the subjective realm, in these instances take on the conceptual form of personal homage. As I attend to the assemblage of these unlinked concatenations, there wanders variously to mind the attenuations of Giacometti, the erosions of Moore, the flailing sinew of Boccioni, the swirling drapery of water.
What consolation is there for the painter, say, who, upon completing the careful execution of a fine little picture with his right hand, looks down and is transported by the raw and swirling beauty of the palette in his left? These cascading and volute shapes are simple exultations in form. Their elemental complexities are to sculpture what birdsong is to music. Stop, attend, and they will insinuate pattern and significance. Pattern and significance, now relegated to the subjective realm, in these instances take on the conceptual form of personal homage. As I attend to the assemblage of these unlinked concatenations, there wanders variously to mind the attenuations of Giacometti, the erosions of Moore, the flailing sinew of Boccioni, the swirling drapery of water.
