It is strange, this way of looking to things, objects of our everyday reality - yet not seeing the object at all. Instead, seeing the play of light and shadow across the textured surface of an old chair; the negative space that surrounds and engulfs it; the angles; the dimensions... and through that, you picture your next piece of art. It is both consuming and engulfing, yet utterly beautiful and poignant in its thought and its creation within the mind. And it is now that I laugh at the complexity of the human imagination, and our perception of reality. And how that perception differs...

I look to my right and see a collection of everyday objects on my desk: a stack of books, a few dead roses, long wilted, an old chipped mug of pencils, and the scattered pencil shavings across the desk... think of how this would make a good still life... I look again and see the space around the objects... the way the light engulfs them, and watch as the shadows of said objects creep menacingly over the wall behind. Turning off the desk lamp, the absorbing light of the computer screen makes them seem all the more ghostly and condemning. Strange in itself.

Even reaching for the mouse, the way the soft, dull light plays over the veins and bones of my hand, the pale skin appearing luminous in the shadows... seeming almost sinister. Hands have always fascinated me, in a way... the subtle movements, such complex movement - their placement so suggestive of emotion, of hidden and deeply felt thoughts. I will often sit and just watch, subtly, the movement of peoples hands, as they talk, tapping the side of a cup of coffee with annoyance, the rubbing of an eye, scratching the neck... such normal, everyday movements, occurances... yet beautiful in their own...

...I will save other random ramblings for another day.
xx