This is a collection of reflections from travels and site visits, a notebook in motion. These entries sit somewhere between essay and field journal, capturing fleeting moments of observation, thought and process.
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False Prophet Dispatch: Crown of Thorns
Video log — nocturne, 1 AM.
“Put your head on my shoulder.”
Phrase loops — human, tender.
A blue light hums in the studio.Rubens painted the head hanging,
delicate and heavy,
still breathing?Is the black goat / sheep —
the crown itself —
the pain of God?a jade mask on fire
We make sorrow universal
to cultivate sympathy:
tender plants in a bloody garden.Is Jesus Christ:
Son of Saturn (black cube)?
Son of Jupiter (golden eagle)?Who spoke in the desert?
A sweet kite (Milvus milvus)
taken up in a lightning storm.brick by brick
Somewhere, a halo of neon light
hums — drawing pale wings,
plants thick with thorns,
all reaching for what burns:A love-sick hand touching
the moth-eaten edge of a miracle.P.S. Notes from the edit bay, blue light still on — video.
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Paint like sound (when it’s thin)
Color shifts by degrees —
heat, distance, saturation.
Peach into rose, rose into air.
A thin white line cuts through —
it hums but doesn’t waver.Edges blur then settle orange against shadow,
geometry built from hesitation.
Pattern like breath, repeated but never exact.Leaves or shapes —
stamped like wallpaper,
or under a child’s boot;
rhythm steady either way,
a pulse made visible.In another frame —
pink and lilac flirt with yellow,
a tone held long enough to remember.Paint behaves like sound when it’s thin —
frequency without noise,
the same horizon
at different times.
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