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

Album cover for The Hold Steady

The Hold Steady Sets the Scene

ERIC R. DANTON
Thrashing Thru the Passion, the latest album from Brooklyn indie-rock band the Hold Steady, begins with a striking description: “He shaved his head at the airport / In a bar at the end of the concourse.”

Cover of The Open Heart Club

Hen Medic: Maude Abbott and the Dawn of Cardiology

GABRIEL BROWNSTEIN
October, 1931.  Imagine that you’re riding a southbound train from Montreal to New York City. The woman across the aisle smells strange, a mix of rose water and formaldehyde. She has packages everywhere. on the seat beside her, in the rack above.

Art gallery

The House on Altamount Road

DIANE MEHTA
There were nightmares after which I flew into her bed and sometimes she let me stay there. But because these times were rare, I took what my mother offered in lieu of affection: a critical eye. Without an opinion and a critical eye, she taught me, you were nothing.