Happy Thanksgiving

Equipped with a linoleum block and a cutter with a metal tip of my choosing, I begin with the vision of a print of tree roots.  I choose a medium-smallish blade and set out with a general idea of how far the roots should extend.  This is the art of it: with some overarching image in mind (and a quick pencil sketch), I am allowed the liberty of delving into the heart of it and getting lost in the moment.  I bow to instinct to guide the small motions, while drawing back every now and again to see the broader picture.

After I am finished carving, I stamp the picture.  A few minutes later, the freshly stamped image catches my eye.  There, a product of the block lifting off the paper amid a plentiful spread of ink, have formed hundreds of miniature, natural rivulets.  Here I, with human and tangible instruments, have labored to create what I intend to be a naturalistic image.  Now, spontaneously, hundreds of branches are reaching their tendrils into this deeper soil.  

The tendrils whisper in their little voices:  What you labored to create over a period of time we form spontaneously.  We are deeper than you could go, and we spread more thickly and intimately than you could imagine.  In all their small humility, they say, this is our substance and our medium which you dabble in.  Your image mirrors what we are: intricate and broad, a pattern and union of beauty, extending from depths beneath you, whose origins you cannot see.

Happy Thanksgiving.