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I had a poem published in Thema that had the same interest in slow, quite art. Lovely portrait, Dorothee. My best, Charlotte Hart

Is it one line or three? Folded paper and ink in Tokyo.

Gently rock the tray in the water slowly up, back, side, side, up, back, side to side.
Fibers float. Bark is now loosened from its self, yellow and brown grass swirl dissolve
water withering shape.

Dry and transformed the paper waits lying flat, one small hole where fibers meet thin.

American, Ethan Plaut studies the texture, the grain, the room of shape,
the wabi-sabi top edge, a beach as seen from space burnt remnant brittle.

He waits, considers and touching the paper gently,
feeling its attraction, reading its nature, he makes two folds and puts it down.

Kizu Taiboku holds the brush and watches the folded paper, waiting.
The paper folds reach into hidden folds. Intimate and urgent he lifts the bamboo brush
and the moment between life and death soft bristles of silver hairs dipped in black
loneliness chill.

His brush touches the paper dark streak of exhale. Black ink caresses and bleeds dragged on the surface, then lifted inky bouquet of softest sheep hairs leaving black bruise bone of disintegrating edges gesture of rust, permanent, random, impermanent.

Contrast shining wet on the paper and dry union with paper. Ethan-san smoothes the paper open mystery of unfolding breathes in.

Where there was one continuous line there are three fragments.

“Is it one line or three?” asked Kizu-san’s friend. “It is both: the process is the product” Ethan responds like a gently rocking tray of unformed paper in water.