I was sitting near the edge of a pond yesterday, for instance. I thought how the water is very much like artistic process, rippling with energy one minute, then become still as though dormant, waiting to catch wind, make waves.
Below the water—a bedrock of mud that was formed by earth millions of years ago. I stuck my finger into its thick squishiness, and instantly I had a craving to use the rich brown pigment like ink on paper. I scooped up a jar of the stuff, and today spent hours, squirting mud again and again onto a plate of plexiglass.
I pulled dozens of “mono prints,” but it took me awhile to get my two-step technique down pat. At the end of the day, I found an expression of line that I liked. It’s one of two keepers. This spontaneous way of making a print is compelling. I want to do more!