Once upon a time, a very long time ago, I took an introductory Studio course at my university.
Among the many snippets of memory I’ve carried away from that time is a story the instructor told of a student who’d painted an abstract expressionist canvas and upon being asked why he’d chosen the colors he’d chosen was baffled and unable to reply. His instructor then merely pointed to the student’s shoes and walked away. His runners were the apparent source of the colors in the painting.
My instructor intended this to be a warning about unconscious choices guiding our practice and the need to be conscious of what we were doing and why.
I keep falling in love with certain scenes that I see, like a pair of favorite runners I suppose, day after day as I go about my life here.
Smoke and Mirrors 