mastercraftsman

I love the smell of fresh cut rosewood. If I could bottle that I'm sure I could be rich. For now I'll just have to keep my special relationship with that smell to those zen moments.... The times when you have to be in touch with your art. Wincing in pain at the smallest misstep; feeling the ecstasy of creating beauty, all with the combined years of obsession continually being referenced, up to that very instant of that angle of my Japanese chisel as it slices.... For some reason I just got one of those flashbacks to a moment I thought a the time was a premonition... I'd just come in off the deck after a brutally cold stackup trying to move crab gear from the oncoming ice floe. I was looking in the mirror, when tears started flowing immediately. The normal popsicle boogers hung from my mustache, but this time my nose and cheeks were blotched a dark purple. I was hideous. Bad case of frostbite. I just feel like at that moment I knew my future would be peaceful, artistic, far away and some how saw my self as I am now....