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 from time to time as a single element of a piece opens a door into another room.
It’s as if, while i’m properly enchanted by a particular piece and all it has to say, its neighbor barges in to ask if it might borrow a pound of milk, a pound of peacock feathers, a mortar and pestil 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 wafts in.
This is where these orphans come from. Usually it’s a few days spent in this strange parlour or that having conversations that i don’t quite understand but thoroughly enjoy. I’m always drawn back to the more developed series, the older friends that i understand better and the schemes we’ve plotted out together so far, but i try to do enough work in these collections that they become something that are, at least, familiar enough to return to. From time to time the visits become more frequent and i end up in a life long love affair but until then these pieces remain orphans to me with no clear place of origin or destination. Grasshopper songs in a cloud. A dandelion gone to seed in space. A handful of marbles slowly bounding down the north Atlantic continental shelf.