OF INTERDISCIPLINARITY

There is only composite being. There are a great many of me being, at once. When I say me, I include all of you too. I believe that knowing is not objective or subjective, but rather intersubjective. Or, if you wish to delight your mind, consider an interobjective point of view.
If you truly want to test yourself, ask what an intersubjective-interobjectivity would look or feel like for all of us. I think this point of view is the true one. It is such a sheer, all-encompassing film we are not trained to look for. It is an easy thing to overlook. I can only say that I look for it, ardently. The inward turn is necessary for the creation of an original work of art. Yet, it is met by a complementary outward turn that reconnects me to the world. Inside, we are a teeming throng, as much as is the world around us. This is a revelation.
My work responds to it.
If I move to a more granular interview of my own selves, the writer in me is perceiving both exposition and implied narrative, looking and learning what and how to report, to someone who has not seen exactly what I am seeing, (as I see it). How do I conjure my insight for them effectively? What would extract the essence of that which is not easily shown, to increase their perception? This is something I want to achieve as a writer.
My mind undergoes a taxonomic sorting process, aligning things with their familiars. This is the early part of my writing process. I am inspired when I am confounded and do not perceive easy categories. I superimpose archetypes and symmetries, examining the stories humans tell and the stories nature shows us. How and where do these narratives couple with patterns I have seen before? How do they refuse to belong to what I have witnessed?
As a graphic artist, I look at forms and how they align, their symmetries and asymmetries; compositional elements, as well as the angles of perspective. I am fascinated by angles. A close, yet oblique, access point can steal up, be near, and not be confrontational. 
In both writing and graphic work, I map energy: tenderness, interrelation, or absolutely static elements and how they can shift. I am always asking myself, how does the energy move? How does movement lead us to look, and more importantly, what am I being distracted from?
Like a scene with a pickpocket who stages some diversion, I always look and ask, what is hidden in plain view? I look into corners, behind the main thrusts of images, seeking out the ambient characters within the setting, and most often, the character of the setting itself.
As a spinner, weaver and seamstress, I examine the construction of what holds an entire image together. What is the tension here? Is the composition firm and well placed? Is it suffocating or overfilled with tight tension? Is it evanescing? Does it have a hidden lining?
It is not that I cultivate a preference. It’s only that by looking, I am given suggestions of various ways of framing reality, both to better learn certain conventions, and also, to gain access to an escape from the obvious. I observe, to be schooled. 
To be in the presence of knowing, expecting our knowing to remain solid, is simply a habit. My interest in tales of shapeshifters, tricksters and magical creatures aligns with my deep consciousness of the seasons and emotions, how they shimmer and transform, incrementally or absolutely, right before our eyes.
True seeing requires readiness to discard previous perceptions. This is a wonderful thing. Here is where all of the stories are, when expectations are hung out and worn through, or envelopes prove too small or flimsy, when awe comes, in all forms, from small, intimate and personal, to stunning, unprecedented upheavals of entire villages, nations or eras.
Everything comes with evidence that is announced somewhere. If we look, change can be perceived in a great many antecedent changes. 
As I look, I wonder, “is it now? Is it…now? Am I seeing something now that will later become significant?”
The answer is always, “yes.” The answer is that “now is always and only ever significant.”
I imagine the many seers within me, within the frames of my reference. It is a crowd of seers, all holding one space and looking through two shared eyes.