fuck it

in

After 30+ years in some form of creative practice, the only lesson I’ve learned worth passing on is that the magic words are “fuck it” – as in “fuck it, I’m going to The Shed and freeze and fiddle with things,” or “fuck it, I have no clue what I’m doing so (so - not but!) I’m going to do it anyhow because that’s the only way to learn”: this magical refrain being what drew me out of the past few days’ creative stupor (nice to see that posting here again with regularity and verbosity wasn’t solely because of the stupor) to the point that maybe, just maybe I have the start of something worth pursuing that makes use of all those flat metal rods that I cut for another project before deciding to go in a different direction (fuck it), flat metal rods which have, for the last week, been sitting on the workbench with the nine-inch-ish flat metal rod equivalent of a middle finger pointing in my general direction and sneering.

snowmahgerd26, update 03

in

Snow has stopped / final clean + shovel of all paths and panels / RIP metalshack, but it’s all good: since I moved shop to my front Shed porch, metalshack has served as a scrap storage space. Had planned to take it out in the Spring to make room for something else behind the shed. Still, lots of process memories and creative development occurred under the auspices of its ramshackle embrace.