I spent most of today working on the piece Fence out in the pasture. I find that when I make Art I have the least idea about what I am doing. Not in the ordinary sense of not knowing why one is making what they are making or what they see in it, or something along that grain. Rather, I become incredibly vexed at the very gesture of doing. The absurdity of making Art lends me to the absurdity of doing or being as a whole. Far easier for nothing to do or be at all. But nothing does and is anyways, and it’s pretty gorgeous. That’s pretty odd to me.