Seattle Ship Supply – 1561 West Nickerson Street – Fisherman’s Terminal – Seattle, WA
Three months have passed since the last time I posted. This gap was not because I found myself in a desert full up with a swollen tongue, my eyes closed against the burning sky. Rather I found myself in a place full up with tones that fade from gray into infinite black.
I can’t explain how ones ends up in that place or how ones gets out; there is something inexplicable about trying to explain something inexplicable. Long ago I gave up trying to sort that out as it always ends up like trying to type a rambling letter on keyboard missing all its vowels. A hopeless proposition as the simple is rendered impossible and clarity becomes gibberish. Instead I have learned a far wiser course is to find a damn exit any way you can. That is not an easy thing to do; the longer you fail at that task the more impossible it becomes. Recursion is a wicked bitch.
Nor do you know how that place will affect your ability to do things you love. Sometimes it heightens your need to create though the normal state is for it to suck the life right out of you. I like to imagine this state of paralysis as being similar to what a prisoner experiences when the parole board announces, to him or her, denied.
My exit this time came in the form of getting ready for a solo show. The odd thing is often the most useful work in a case like this are repetitive tasks that have a specific completion date. My specificity that broke the recursion came from framing thirty images.
I wish I had a pithy conclusion to tie this all up but I don’t. That is how is it is when you leave that place. You are either in or you’re out; not all that much different from either being denied or paroled.
Copyright 2012 By Katherine Johnson – All Rights Reserved.