The greatest acts of creation can be the messiest. Look at birth. I continue making rocks, and while they're not up there with birth or with God's rocks, they're pretty fine. The picture above is of my dedicated rock pot with another rock blurping like oatmeal in it. It used to be last Sunday's NYT Classified Section. The pulp has excreted some oily red ink, and if I hadn't watched "Dexter" last night (for the first and last time), it probably wouldn't look quite so appalling to me.
This batch is dedicated to the rock that will hold up the paraphernalia (pump, vessel, tubing, electrical wire) for the water that will trickle out of a verdigris covered-length of drainpipe and into a hidden basin with a sweet, echoing sound, like the water deep under a gutter grate that you hear late at night while you're walking your dog along a quiet street. And all this in the ugly corner where the refrigerator used to be. . . .
[If you scroll down, you can see some pictures of the first rocks to get hot-glued to the wall.]
1 comment:
This is an ambitious project! Shall I say, "Keep rockin'!"? I love the sound of it, though.
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