Offcuts

A pocket of studio notes. Read in any order. Leave one unread.

To measure something is to agree, for a moment, that it exists in public. I measure so I can stop possessing.

Leave one vertex unused. The object should still be able to surprise you after it is finished.

Humidity edits paper overnight. I have started leaving drafts by the window on purpose. Some sentences improve when they cockle.

A filled plane is often a fear of edges. Better a sparse construction that can still change its mind.

If the object looks expensive, sand it. If the sentence looks certain, cut it. Certainty is usually a finish, not a form.

These are offcuts. They were never wasted. They were waiting for a smaller architecture.