The Only Way Out is in

Translation is an act of reaching into the dark, *will I hit something? * or peering into a ditch, or over a barrier. Even in the same tongue, we hold each others’ languages simultaneously, deciphering layers of code that form and crystalise between mind and mouth. To recall is to mine, then, to speak is to unearth, to bring to the surface. I am thus tending to the hole in my lawn. *good imagery* To transpose is to repeat,*can you use a different word?* changing the key. *changing the key means we can sing easier* Me to you. Heard and passed on. When we speak, transposition*cause I like it here better, it feels clunky previously* is an inevitability, and the only way out is through to the other side. These acts of translation occur constantly, as language holds only an approximate place. *this is how i feel about drawing, its an approximation of what you're trying to transcribe*

This work attempts to transpose the feeling of speaking and the act of hearing, *the drawings of this translation creates a path , not only in the lines and arrows (the usual cartology of a diagram) but the text is a path too*, taking note of the movement between and the failings that follow. *yes!* It's not a straight line but something like a diagram. These diagrams attempt *i feel like this is just all one bit attempt* to plot this metamorphosis *morphing - when does it become the new thing, somewhere on the line that connects the two* ; jumping to conclusions, proposing meaning through visual connections and linguistic connotations. We end up with something that's probably close enough.