I measure the pressure and press more to revive the old work of another man, a working man, a man now passed and gold ripples of texture speak to me of where he levelled his plane to level the unlevelled and the unsmoothed and I stroked the more where it seemed to me he may have missed the mark. Revival begins with a single pass of the plane and a chisel’s pristine edge that severs the waste from the wanted and the past from the present. Ribbons of gold fall away and at first I look to the waste alone that spilled away, but then I look back to a day past and a man like me shaving the same piece of wood and I hear his heart beat in a slow rhythmic thud, thudding and the sweat of his brow and the surge of blood pulsing through his veins as in mine now and I smile in thoughts that work past and present is still reviving in cycles.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Sep 2014 20:23:20 +0000
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