Possibly the quietest corner in my studio. Less than two feet from the bench I stand at all day. And a mile away. To the right is where chaos shows me who’s boss. Where the bicycles are made. Where I do my best to listen as materials and dimensions overrule almost every command I give. It’s what I’m used to. To my left there are windows that give my workroom light. And hope. The order sobers me. Where the calm is. An eternity from the missteps that never make it into the brochure.
Half of the time we’re gone
But we don’t know where,
And we don’t know where.
All This By Hand
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