Dennis Hollingsworth

Detail

You've got to pay attention to the things that catch your eye.

But there's an edge of trouble when you tend to see beauty everywhere. An improvised comb. How nice, those bulldozed teeth! The comb brings another piece on the table, like a bishop or a rook. Chess. I play the game a few moves into the future, over and over again like I always do. Every action opens and limits other subsequent action. And now this rook can pile up paint into a fold of layered color all curled up like a beetle, like the edge of a continental shelf shoved into a mountain range. I start to think too much about how ways to turn such residue-into-product on the canvas.

Meanwhile the clock is ticking. The paint is drying.

Maybe in the next painting.

(Last night.)