Centric
I think it's pretty obvious that a stylus traveling through the groove of an LP is analogous to some sort of mythic pilgrim’s wanderings--stumbling through labyrinths, over mandalas, or whatever. As with any myth, the end seems to be in view from the very start. Some stories have been told so many times that it’s hard to find adventure in the venture; hard to take it (and make it) personally. In spite of that, I have a helpless attraction to these kinds of narratives. I also have an unconditional affection for the material junk of recorded music and a compulsion for reflecting on perception via spatial orientation. I drew these pages hoping my loves and compulsions would push me through trap doors, over walls carved in relief, through scale shifts, and through loose (and that might simply mean poorly-fitting) associations. All this, in order to find a few personal footholds in an otherwise smoothly worn subject.
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