I was the first guest early autumn morning and at the Ryoanji Zen garden.
My hands reached for the sketchbook, opening it on my lap. I witnessed my right hand drawing thin pen lines on a white page – that turned out to be stones.
An image of a frail soul glided from the right-hand side, looking down at the stones and me and the sketchbook. My father, dead for a few days, was drifting into the ancient garden and drawing.
A few weeks later, at my studio, I gazed at wooden blocks 15X15X3 waiting for me since summer to do something with them. I was impatiently carving with a knife into the wood, but shortly leaving it discouraged.
Thus, I went around organizing things – sometimes it comforts.
An electric engraver I got years ago, suddenly revealed itself. I have never used it.
I hastily began burning deep into the wood block: dots, shapes, lines.
The smell of burning firewood filled the air. Cloud-like thoughts about my father’s chemistry vessels, ancient clay wine containers and the question if I would prefer to be burnt after death…
My hands, astonished, as they found a path that transformed my being through fire, pen, images, and a name for a new alchemical process – series.
An Amphora for the Dead.