A Short and Mildly Factual Biography

When I was a kid I would spend hours in the garage, sifting through drawers full of nuts, bolts, and other unidentifiable parts my father had stockpiled for that ever-elusive day when they would again fill a need.  Many summer afternoons were lost to tinkering, building contraptions of varying usefulness out of those oxidized leftovers.  Oftentimes, without an end in sight, I would allow my hands to fit pieces together unaware of what they were giving birth to right in front of me.

I still have the same tendencies, though my mediums have changed somewhat.  Certainly there are cerebral tasks that form and polish any creative work, but often there is still the sense of being an onlooker, watching as hands conduct their manipulations of their own volition.  Whether or not my creations prove to be of any greater usefulness is yet to be seen.  For that matter, usefulness isn't the best assessment of a creative work.  And so sometimes we must work by feel.