My Mondays all start the same way, pretty much, anyway. The week's wholly brand new and untouched, unsullied and bright for me to invest life into. I open my workshop door, hold back for a whole second, maybe two, and glimpse into the darkness; it's a personal thing, waiting for the light from the doorway, the way it floods in to my future, contrasts in the focal point of my bench, and sets my brain's recall of what I left in wait. Every past event of work is recorded within my four walls. There is no influence from elsewhere here. What exists there, currently unmoving, reaches into my future; I am about to link past to present and future. Isn't that ordinarily unique!The light switch breaks into the darkness, brings the floodlight to even out the pockets of contrast in dark against light, even the darkest corners reveal the currency of brightness. The leaning wood, stacks brightly too, as if reflecting the brilliance of wood. The stacks take up occupation here and there, isolated…
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