When I used to carve stone, the little cracks and grooves suggested where to go. One line organized the next and another flowed from the other. I found harmony in the yield of the rock while satisfying myself. Somehow, we found a relationship and lived in peace.
Can it be done with line? I come close to allowing my hands to orchestrate the shape, yet I can’t hold or smell the outcome.
I miss the rugged artwork I used to create.