Now, now, now, this will not do; these infrequent, ambivalent entries with indifferent pictures of half-formed ideas. Nothing organised, not even connected to my social media. (Yes, still looking for a media assistant/manager. Call me.) I didn’t know what I wanted this blog to be. News from the studio? Snippets from the study? Documentation, commentary, education, sales? Is “all of the above” out of the question? Does anyone even care?
I know now, though; that is, I know any blog is first and foremost a voice to the world, and I remember I’m a writer in my bones: in sinew and synapse; the dance of the words is yet and again the dance. I need words. As I get older and my feet don’t skip so well and the tremor in my hands confounds my sculpture, I’ll need words more and more. To work with and to play with.
So I want to talk about everything here – so many things, such a range of things: there will be women, of course, and no doubt men, and history and the future, movements and moments of my art and others’, meditations on power and creativity and destruction and the rhythms of the world; paeans and rants and elegies and random observations on, oh, who knows – anything and everything. It’s all connected. I want to step back from the edge now and then and observe the whole monstrous flux caught here and there in slow motion, grinding by and onward, rolling, skittering, flourishing, failing, passing. Pluck a rock here, a flower there, spin a quick web-poem.
Watch this space.
Jack Laurian Pascoe 