I'd Do More If I Knew How

I’d write more if only I knew what to write about what it is that I don’t know.

What I don’t know is vast and multiplying at a frightening rate.

Je suis desolée.

The universe is expanding.
The universe is hiding all traces of its beginning.
Pretty soon it won’t look like it’s expanding anymore.
How will anyone know anything?

I come into the studio in the morning and go to work. Well, that’s one way to describe my slow process. What I suspect I actually do is leave the planet for a lengthy period of time; it seems from the slow progress of the present painting that I must spend a great deal of time traveling in hyperspace. I’ve certainly spent the last two weeks not getting right the same set of ellipses that define a rusted tin can. When I come back from my travels, everything is almost the same as before, although not exactly.

Outside the studio is a small garden mobbed with mostly silent crows. They’ve been watching all this time and could tell you more than me.