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Writing is to descend like a miner to the depths of the mine with a lamp on your forehead, a light whose dubious brightness falsifies everything, whose wick is in permanent danger of explosion, whose blinking illumination in the coal dust exhausts and corrodes your eyes.
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Twelve Cards

 

Last week, my new card racks arrived. Two of them are the five-foot tall variety, with both horizontal and vertical orientation for the cards, as you can see below.

The rack holds twenty-four cards, and I've filled it top to bottom on two of its four sides. I'm currently painting the thirteenth card.

Gotta keep workin' on the dream.

 


by Brett Rogers, 4/10/2006 12:46:53 AM
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