Another Version: A Semi-Daily Practice

art by author

Around this table we’d gather, cover it with food. In the end: scattered drippings and crumbs, bottles and glasses emptied or abandoned. A cat scavenging the remains.

 

art by author

Now, relocated, with a chair on one side only. On the other, a wall. The formerly kitchen chair, my chair. The formerly kitchen table: my workspace.

 

art by author

Sit here, apply color, observe contrast. Saturation. One bleeds into another.  One side into the other.

 

art by author

Form emerges. Lines describe. Try to make a habit of it. This, a repeating pattern.

 

art by author

Recall that cusp-of-the-new-year conversation about routine, discipline—the collective lack of it. This is not a daily practice,

 

art by author

but movement toward frequency. An attempt at commitment, or devotion, mostly an inconsistent exercise in making.

 

art by author

Pairing. One color with—one card with—another. Maybe another. Side-by-side: un-matched, in relation. What comes, together.

 

art by author

The suggestion of the organic: at times intentional, undeniable—part plant, part beast—at times unwanted. The insidious demand to be recognized, not seen.

 

art by author

This is occupation by card, by force—a number of forms extracted from some other nature—a quantity of nameless shapes gathering, multiplying, purpose unknown.

 

Elizabeth Witte is the Web Essays Editor of The Common.

Photos by author.

Another Version: A Semi-Daily Practice

Related Posts

campground

Notes on Camp: 2020

VAL WANG
It was to be my first experience of summer camp, that quintessential American rite-of-passage. It would also be the first of many lessons in what summer camp reveals about what it means to be American – lessons that have come flooding back to me this summer.

Image of The Salt Path book cover.

Walk

Raynor Winn
We’d expected extremes of weather while we were on the Coast Path, British weather. Wind, rain, fog, occasional hail even, but not the heat, the burning, suffocating heat. By lunchtime we’d crawled out of the shade of Woody Bay into an intensely hot afternoon.

dubrow essay

The Red Picture and the Blue

JEHANNE DUBROW
On sunny days, we took the funicular from our apartment in the old section of the city, downhill to the lower, newer portion, where we visited galleries or just toured the neighborhoods. Or, we wandered closer to home, through cobblestone streets to St. Mark’s Church.