Magazine Transfers

These processes are teaching me patience. I decided yesterday that I would convert all of my frustration into excitement to see the finished product. I am not seeking perfection, what would be the fun in that? What exactly would dictate perfection in this process? As I sit in the anticipation phase of the magazine transfer, eagerly awaiting to see the projection of our experiments, I realize now that art is never about the end result. Well, I mean, it kind of is. But that's not what I take pleasure in. No matter if it is throwing pottery, painting, editing, writing, or rubbing wet magazine strips off of masking tape, it is the tactility of this kind of creation that makes the end result, whatever it is, so much more gratifying. In a way, this deep level of involvement-- my eyes dry because I haven't remembered to blink in at least 20 minutes, my hands covered in paper fibers, my thoughts racing over which article will produce the best patterns on screen-- is kinesthetic in that I am fully aware of my body movements as they relate to the film-making process; the leader becomes an extension of my fingers that gently wipe away paper residue from its surface. Like cleaning the hair of your small child in a large kitchen sink-- they look up at your with such wonderment in their eyes, and you smile at the thought of how beautiful both of your lives will be because you have each other. No one else.

Man am I hormonal lately. But art is my child. And I am a child of art. The suspense is killing me-- I am most interested to see how the words turned out, they seemed to transfer onto the tape very well. I long to feel that rush of adrenaline right before the reel passes in front of the open shutter.