Responses to my posts are far with even less than few between. It seems to me that readers are covert, that they visit my blog out of curiosity but are not inclined to leave a trace of having been. Their visits appear to me as anonymous stats. A stat is like a whiff, a vague shadow of a presence. They come, the readers, and then they steal away. The virtual air is filled with their shadows.
And so why should it be otherwise, I hear you ask? We do not need to know who came, who saw, who heard. My thoughts are more or less one way traffic anyway, that do not beg views that either agree or oppose mine. The posts are free-standing, insightful , vague, confused, zealous and a mixture of all of the above.
Best that I am left to stew, to have an outlet at least through which I can exhaust my enthusiasms.
I had imagined that some of the posts might light a fire of some kind. I thought that the mysterious new technologies would spread ideas in a more thorough way. Perhaps I should extend myself a little, to find out more about them?
Perhaps readers sense that I am playing with the form, not understanding the true nature of it. Perhaps what lies underneath my umbrella is already sheltered, needs no containment.
Where ambivalence to my sculptural works does not diminish the scale of their production, where others may have had more common sense to learn from their errors to contract, I remain expansively inclined.
My blog represents the middle ground of a field half plowed.