Incubation Station

Ever since The Glen conference last August, when I was taken with the stunning assemblages created by the visual arts workshoppers, I have been collecting bits and pieces with vague ideas of how I wanted to use them. That, and having recently read A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit which set me spinning over the idea that parts of ancient maps labeled "terra incognito" are where I now sit and type. How that mapmaker would long to see what we have seen, how nearly or not things resemble his wildest imaginings. And that centuries from now my descendants will have intimate understanding of time and space in ways we now only inkle at. So I am gathering copies of ancient maps, birds and bird cages, old wooden boxes, dolls, and other assorted bits to grapple with all this visually. It's been fun combing old junk shops and antique stores, stumbling on things that you know will be the perfect whatever for whatever. I love the chain reactions all forms of art create and how no one can predict what their song or painting or poem will inspire in another. Nor can the one who will be creating it.