Marcos creates three-dimensional shapes, laser cut by computer, split out of the four-dimensional invisible architecture. Four of them hang like butchered meat in the installation. Is meat but a crude physical manifestation of a not-physical space?

I can't theorize on what it is I'm doing, I post to the on-line editor. Where are the stiff bodies, the butchering of animals for meat, our own meat, a father's last breath expelled into an empty room in this space? Or is this flicker of light, this invisible object that I am shaping and your are entering a kind of meat that gives shape to the invisible?

In the end, of which there is not one—only a grocery list being crossed out—it is something I loved in my early twenties, read from my Mother's poetry anthology that comes to mind:

"This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go."

My slow waking. Hampered and blazed by generational readings from books, constrained and unfettered by the mathematics of recipes, starved and fed by comfort food. I learn by going where I have to go.