Ongoing work and notes along the way.
This is a few snaps of a painting from a series began in 2022.
I came across the word “Instar”in a Rebecca Solnit book I was reading at the time. Can’t seem to find it now in my many book piles at the moment. I’ll track it down soon I’m sure.
It’s actually a term used for insects but my brain can’t let go of it as “in-star” as being “in a star.”
Also, I’m sure they have something to do with the many sunrises I was watching that year.
An instar is a place in the mysterious in-between.
No longer Caterpillar. Not yet Butterfly.
The old skin. The old self.
About to fully detach. About to transform.
No longer what was. Yet, not what will be.
Limits on life. Borders that blur.
An infinite instar is a metamorphous without end.
An impossibility given what we know about realities.
All possibilities given what we imagine about galaxies.
All-in-finite-in-star.
The instant we remember to reverence it we also remember to mourn it, for we remember that this living miracle is a temporary miracle — a borrowed constellation of atoms bound to return to the stardust that made it. - Maria Popova
