Meditation: Sumi

It is nearly a year since the idea came to me that the activities of my hands were meditations. Or at least something to meditate upon. I didn’t give it much thought, it just seemed “right” at the time. But every once in a while, when I am making art or doing some chore, my hands make me aware of myself as a physical being. And most importantly of how physical the processes of thought are. How embodied they are.

So. Sumi. Black ink. That despoilation of the blank paper. The joy of cursive script. Here’s a haiku about it:

Black ink laid starkly. Outline of a lover’s touch, staining the white sheets.