Here on the paper, making marks of meaning, searching for the apposite line, the brushed path of an errant hair. A painted bridge that inks or powders its way across the blank canyon. Eyes closed, seeing open, gearing up for the leap to the other side, letting the gap stand. No attempt at joining, no plastering here, only the struggle to express the two unmeeting tides as we walk unnerved across a fraying tightrope. The moment soon beyond, blood and sweat dripping into other paradoxes. A second sheet unfolds and the rock rolls back to the tabla rasa valley floor.
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016
Photo from morguefile.com