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!
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.
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.