I love this part. It’s like a satisfying novel, or a not-too-difficult puzzle. A little bit of work, but mostly just watching it unfold.


The ends of the wires are still trying to pull away from the form, but if I can just control the next three inches everything will work out okay.


This is how it always starts: heavier vertical wires taped to the form. Multiple layers of tape, because the wire does not want to stay put.


Then I go around the hips and attach a lighter-weight wire to each vertical wire. This part drives me crazy. Wires everywhere, trying to poke me in the eyes, making a little shivery sound as they brush against each other.


Here’s a close-up of one of the little wires wrapped around one of the bigger ones:


Fussy and barely manageable, like a newborn baby. It takes me a while to get into a groove.



inscrutable hand

In the afternoons, she follows her blue shadow through the glitter-bombed woods.

What is it about the shadow that tugs at her orange-tufted paws and purple tongue?

Even if she spoke English, she could not tell you.

It leads her to the gravel pit, where the dirt bikes buzz like oversized cluster flies.

What do the dirt bikes know?

Even if they spoke English, they could not tell you.

Maybe it’s something like what the eggbeater knows: the inscrutable hand urges you onward, long after you’d have stopped if it were up to you.