An urge, normally ignored, materials need to be touched, their texture satisfies. Grainy powders smoothed with moisture and movement, applied to board that yields control of its taut surface under the dampness.

The process satisfies but it’s outcomes leaves the desire for more. A disappointing display, a performance that enticed and result that is lack lustre. Sometimes we make awful work. Its left like a dirty secret in the piles on studio desks, at the back of sketchbooks, placed in bins to be removed. Despicable that our hands create something unwanted.

The words added from a collect pile for colour and became an poem similar to high school attempts. The words float around, there is something here but it needs to be coached. Perhaps a new approach.

I turn to sound. Reading and repeating the words. It’s late. They are asleep. I whisper these words of betrayal. Layering them in the manner my mis-functioning mind layers and collates my thoughts and worries, meddling until some clarity appears.

Sometime we make awful work
Reverse considerations
Can part a moments
Unpredictable history
Conflicts came between
Unceasing patterns
And past
What should
Without possible attempt
An aborted message be