Let’s start from scribbles, let’s start from scraps.
When given an empty canvas, I stare intently at my toes as I wiggle them, plan which wall to remove and couch to shift were the place mine, examine my palms as I ponder my life as written in wrinkles and wonder which wrinkle is Wednesday's. One might say I do nothing. I certainly do not make a thing. The plain sheet of paper with its limitless possibilities stares back at me blankly. If it had a tongue it would