Portrait in Linen

Expectant and waiting, anticipating a break of waves, a barreling wall, thundering in from an unfamiliar sea.

A broad-faced hour reluctant to turn, as a page of a novel, a passage of narrative printed in thoughts as minute as fine grains of sand.

If I were rushed, assaulted, engulfed, an onslaught of ropes and nails, tails lashing, glass searing and scratching, throat scathing and catching, a tangle of torn satin sails.

To be granted the mercy of screaming exhale.

Been several years since I tried paper cutting. Discovered the art out of boredom, fell in love with it.

Certainly, the more recent work is unsophisticated and unimaginative, but it is a starting point for what will eventually be what I’m aiming for.

The thing with paper cutting, though…it’s a one-shot deal. No erasing, no painting-over, zero margin for error–that is, if one chooses to go without putting down a preliminary sketch. I won’t do preliminary anything with paper cutting.

For me, the paper must be untouched before rendering. That means no pencil lines, no grids, nothing. The concept is about lifting the image from the paper, not placing one on it.

Again, I find myself agonizing for precision. What could be more precise than an Exacto knife.

I have to press down on the thin strips that are already cut into the paper to keep them from tearing. Once a connecting strip is torn, the piece is ruined; not because I’ve damaged the design, but because I’ve marred the perfection of delicacy and intricacy.

Add to that a little thrill of risk of injury. The tool is dangerous. When working, the blade is centimeters away from my fingers. Another reason to be absolutely careful.

I recognized a long time ago how I have a kind of addiction to tedium. I know this has something to do with my psyche, but I haven’t attempted to make the connection yet.