Field notes. Collecting impressions and sensations. Connecting sights, flavors and sounds. Intuitively.
Traveling across worlds: with or without moving. Spontaneously, automatically. Wrapped in a blanket, Masai sandals at the feet. Protected under overblown duffle coats. Enjoying the childlike pleasures of home-spun jumpers.
An innocent gaze, keeping the inner child alive. A plurality of stimulations, shaken and not stirred. In a lab, with a boilersuit. On the field, in a smoked and printed duvet. In the rain, in gigantic anoraks. Spoonfuls of zabaglione to strengthen the spirit with a sugar rush.
Detours along the lines of notebooks, diaries and states of mind. Slicing thoughts, cutting them up and putting them back together. The boldness of immediate gestures. Decorating oneself with little charms. Pushing a knitted cap on the head. Pulling neckties askew.
Journals intersecting journals, notes over notes of accumulated experiences, worn. Each object, a dot. Each eye, a path. Chinese brocades, Indian ikats, African stripes, English tweeds.
Naïveté and wonder. Surprise of proportions and disproportions. Micro, macro and everything in between. S, M, L, XL, thrown together randomly. Big feet and bigger sneakers. Frank Navin drawing over the surfaces parallel worlds inhabited by animals and objects.
Knowing no boundaries or distinctions. Accumulating endlessly, compulsively. Following no principles as the only principle. Heralding intuition as a state of bliss.
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