For the feeble properties of language...

One day there is full engagement, there is plenitude and clarity, there is movement and the need for movement, friction and the love of friction's complicated figuring : then, suddenly, there is near total distance, a separation from what had been known and felt, a kind of severance, which the spirit and the mind can hardly make sense of : war, love, hunger, wealth, scarcity, injury, or pervasive change in one's environment, can bring these sudden metamorphoses to the very forefront of lived reality, as if nothing but sudden and irreversible change were possible : few stimuli leave more work for the mind, more trouble in the depths of the soul, or more of a hunger for the feeble properties of language, in the hopes that something of what once was felt and good, might be saved : and there, in that want, in that instinct to continue but to figure and to paint or reconstruct, there is the basic urge of humanity at the edge, at the new beginning where everything seems to face the demand for flight, the lack of wings, the hard questions of hoping, moving toward, starting...