Form

I had a lovely conversation with Christine, a friend. After I’d been chatting about Thousand Sketches for a while she reflected back I had a fascination with form.

She is right, I had never seen that so sharply. I am more fascinated by the form than the content. I like the shape of a sonnet. I’ll sketch it now!

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Larger Image.

The canvas is a form. The blog is a form. The limited edition print is a form. (for all the artificial limitation in the digital age) .

Form is a wondrous thing. The medium is the message.

~

Shakespeare follows:

116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

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