i was told that i was not holding it correctly. that eventually, i would develop arthritis in my joints, the knuckles would freeze up and i would not be able to grasp efficiently. do i remember the first time i held a pen or pencil or crayon in my hand? no. but i do remember being enamored with the fact that it was possible to manifest thoughts, images, ideas with the help of a prosthetic: the writing or drawing utensil.
a technological extension of the mind. when not words, then lines and dots and crosshatch. when not image, then syllable, syntax, verb. the symbols all interchanged and integrated with the various movements of the utensil, as if at some point the idea had agreed to dance with the representation.
in the process and aftermath of mark making i fell in love with my prosthesis.
