a seed in my bones (just to locate it somewhere else than "brain" or "heart") that I carry from times before I was born, is what calls me to my studio/space to play. And all I can do is inmerse my-self into every tool and material I have on and under and next to my table. Everything contained in that space talks to me. Sometimes the voice is clear, though not loud, and I know, where to go, how to use, where to apply.
Others, (times) I sit there in a state of sortofconfusion...arms going in one direction, thoughts in another; ideas wizzing by so fast I can't manage to latch on to any, and they all come and go and come and pass. Nothing stays, nothing gets done.
