The Ground Was Lonely

From the studio

I began with an empty mind and a blue-gray background that seemed to need a little life. Five peach-colored blobs appeared and eventually became flowers. The flowers wanted friends. The ground, feeling rather neglected so far below them, wanted some company too. Twenty-three little red flowers later, everyone seemed happier. This is often how my creative process works. I notice something missing, and my subconscious invents a little story to address it. The same thing happens with stuffed animals, silverware, and other ordinary objects. Something feels lonely, forgotten, or out of place, so I do something about it. Only afterward does my rational mind figure out the practical or aesthetic reason behind the decision. Five large flowers and twenty-three small ones, both prime numbers, growing out of an imaginary conversation. As a determinist, I suspect the entire thing was inevitable. But I’m glad the ground spoke up.