Centric

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.

Download a PDF

Drawn for a song

If I park in the driveway there'll be space in the garage

Clear out a closet or two to make room for your mirage

up a storm IV

 

Centric Redux

I spent this past autumn renovating the pages of a booklet I made last year, Centric. This is the last page of the book.  Will post more, or a PDF of the whole thing, sooner or later.

thing language

This is related to my last post, back in July; let me put those sentiments another way, using words belonging to someone else:

Don't touch that dial

***

A record? A log? One more for the fire? One more little overwrought commitment to posterity never hurt anybody, right?

Pitch White

Newbergs

Stelling van Amsterdam

Do limits have the power to seek limits? My name pushes these pages around that cul de sac.