Today “The Fool on the Hill” popped into my head. When I was a kid, I identified with that song, and honestly, I still do.
What hit me today is that the song really isn’t from the fool’s perspective. It’s from the people watching him. Everybody deciding who he is from the outside.
And maybe that’s why it stayed with me.
Sometimes it’s not just feeling like the fool. It’s feeling seen as the fool.
A little outside things. Watching. Thinking. Maybe noticing things differently than other people do.
The song always felt lonely to me, but not completely sad. More like somebody trying to make peace with being different from the flow around them.
Then starting to move about the page. Finding another opening. Seeing a shift, a row, an arrow, a direction. Then each line takes shape and organizes itself, much like this drawing was created.
That’s how my brain functions.
That’s how I find meaning.
I’ve always seen relationships first — patterns, structures, connections between things.
This drawing feels connected to that.
It’s built on patterns, and the patterns shift from one system to another — repeating, evolving, reorganizing themselves across the page. In some ways, it reminds me of my Words I Cannot Read series on ArtChangesLives(Dot)Com — fragmented letterforms and systems that almost make sense, carrying meaning even before I fully understand them.
Eventually, the structure loosens, and at the top a small figure appears, waving, greeting, almost as if it has emerged from the system itself.
For me, these drawings are not illustrations after thought.
Walking Reflection — April 17, 2026 Serious Play, Solemn Play
Years ago, I showed my students at Minneapolis College (MCTC) a video by Paula Scher on serious play vs. solemn play, and I find myself returning to that idea again.
“Serious play is about letting go and allowing things to happen. Solemn play is about controlling the outcome.” — Paula Scher
Years ago, I showed my students at Minneapolis College (MCTC) a video by Paula Scher on serious play vs. solemn play, and I find myself returning to that idea again.
At the time, I understood it pretty simply. Serious play felt open and exploratory, a place where not knowing was part of the process. Solemn play felt heavier, more controlled—something that closed things down.
But now I see it differently.
I think solemn play comes after serious play. Serious play is where things begin—where something opens, and I don’t quite know what I’m doing yet. But then something starts to form. A shape, a direction, a presence begins to emerge.
That’s where solemn play enters. It feels more like a kind of holding. A kind of listening. A willingness to stay with what’s emerging without trying to resolve it. It requires attention.
It’s almost like the kernel forms in serious play, but it begins to take root in solemn play.
Maybe the movement isn’t one or the other. It feels more like a quiet rhythm back and forth—between letting go and staying present, between discovery and care.
Where I am now isn’t about trying to get back to serious play.
It’s about learning how to remain in that space where something begins to take shape,
Lately I’ve been thinking about what remains of us.
Not reputation.
Not a big story.
Not even the full face.
Just trace.
A shadow on concrete isn’t the person, but it proves something stood in the light.
I keep circling the idea that existence doesn’t require constant visibility. When awareness drops away — sleep, silence, the spaces between — there isn’t spectacle. There isn’t narrative. And yet something remains.
Maybe that’s what a shadow is.
Not the full reality.
Not the whole person.
Just proof that contact happened. That light met form.
Not monument.
Existence.
A human being is only breath and shadow. ~ Sophocles
