The opening day of 'collectings'...reflections on the poetic intimations of printmaking during the intermission seem to be lingering...with my foray into collage and assemblage I'm convinced that the poetic exists in all that is most common and familiar to life...the truly remarkable poets and artists manage to find it in death...but of course everyone has there own idea of 'the poetic'...like so many things I don't tend to carry meanings, definitions or explanations of things..'.proceeding with vagueness' allows for constant surprise...its no different with the poetry of everyday experiences...it remains something that you simply know immediately when you encounter it...a certain encounter that goes deeper with very little oxygen...stays down longer and emerges gasping for air or gently draws another breath and goes deeper...to me it seems very close to how I

 feel about the things that I make...there is nothing that I can formulate into words

 that offers an explanation...it is a process that reinforces Merleau-Ponty's notion of a reciprocating dialogue with all things...it requires the relinquishing of control...of ego..I'm not certain how much poetry is contained within these 'collectings'...perhaps there is far more than I am brave enough to trust...sp