Ever have the past come back to haunt you? Specifically your art past? It's unsettling, isn't it? Like the Universe knew something well before you did.
It seems like lately I've been coming across all these realizations about how my making past has shaped my making present. I was cleaning out some stuff today and found all kinds of crazy crap. Post cards from my undergrad show (why the hell did I order so many?). Some bad sketches, which I threw out. A manifesto I wrote my first semester of grad school. This still holds up, so maybe I'll post it another time. And some very interesting index cards.
I tend to make my notes on index cards. By the time I die, I'll probably have a mountain of them. I'm not sure when, where, or how I picked up this habit, but apparently it was sometime early on or before my grad career. I found some index cards from either my first or second semester at Towson. On one, I wrote this quote:
"From the earliest times humans stung stones, wood, feathers, and bone on strings of hide around their necks. The neck is where mind and body, head and heart come together. It is a transitional point from the celestial to the terrestrial, and as such it is a fitting point to place an object of adornment or magic."
~ Robly Glover
I feel like I just saw a ghost.
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