As my pencil skids across the he white field of potential, it turns the surface black. Again and again in endless stroking patterns my mind melts into the surface; into a time dilation of past present and future. It absorbs me, soothes me, and sometimes it mocks me. but always it enthralls me, this exercise of creating something from nothing.

It is not something I think about or at least not think about directly. Thinking would kill it. I may from time to time look out of the peripheral vision of what I am doing and wonder about it, but direct examining thought about it unties the knot that holds the process in place, it destroys the bridge of the moment. No, It is not thought out, this process of creation, it is ridden. If it were calculated, a formulaic answer to an quantified equation, no one would do it. I am not looking for an answer, I could care less about the answer. When I create, I am lost in a power that is greater than the end result could ever communicate rationally. When I look at the expression 2 + 2 = 4 I feel sorry for the people who see the four as the sum.

The bi-product of this experience is what people call art. When the art is good, people will praise you. There is satisfaction in this, but it is only the afterglow or echo of an event that is pure.