I have ambition beyond my current skills. Con.Text evolves in my head. The whole process of producing these works has steadily evolved, but in spite of my efforts to grow alongside my ambitions for delivery, the necessary technical ability remains elusive.
'View: the Con.Text' appeared in a simplified format that was sort of ok because it was the first and, with a second project: 'Underwater Con.Text' already underway, I was happy to keep imagining the development and pursue the process of reaching out to make contact with folk who could do the technical stuff I was struggling with.
Now 'Creatives in Con.Text' is at that stage of being assembled and edited where I know what I want, but not how to get there. I am no further along with the acquisition of techability or a techangel to work with.
Doesn't mean of course that I am stuck. I will produce this thing, and it will be good. I suspect I am being tempted to overwork the skills I do have to compensate for those I do not.
Still, I believe the words are interesting in their own right because they come from conversations with fascinating people, but the delivery seems bound for something other than the interactive challenge I envisioned; it will be a disabled thing.
And I will have those mixed feelings about it that I have about my own life: besides all the love, creativity and achievement, always that wistful longing that ebbs and flows through my conscious and unconscious, to move freely on foot through geography that still beckons.
Coming to the end of this round of Con.Text conversations
I am reluctant to move on, there are conversations outstanding;
artists, whose work has fascinated, leaving scents that linger
and lure; enigmatic memories I attempt to include without
words, with only body language to lay on paper, and only my
instincts to form the shapes the work leaves behind
when we all move on. And a desire to challenge time's tendency
to archive by apparently random selection.