#galleryespresso

A blast from the past... some of my earlier work I made this post card for the coffee shop I worked at while I was a student.

I love rainy days and tea. #savannah #galleryespresso #scad (at The Gallery Espresso)

. . . to the red umbrellas #scadsavannah #scadalum #staycation #historic #galleryespresso #bradleylbowers (at The Gallery Espresso)

The Chessmen Every Sunday, by a window, with hours dedicated and voices tuned out, they play. Rotating with three, transmuted into 32 wooden pieces, they play. The Chessmen bring their own board, their own pieces, their own clock, their own time, and their own space. They have 5 minutes to win their war. Winners keep their thrown. Losers abdicate. Challengers wait their turn. Each chessman are all three, trading places as regularly as the numbers on the clock. They appear different away from the board, vary in height and size and voice. After the clock begins running, they become the same- 16 wooden pieces, furrowed brows, searching eyes. Their hands are accustomed to this cerebral ballet. I watch this ballet for 4 hours, having no intention of watching this ballet for 4 hours. I have been hypnotized...willingly. I have been silent in my research, studying these movements, wondering what they think, how they think, where they learned dance and...in all honesty...why? Why seek this skill? Why spend hours crafting this skill? And why do I? The wood creaks in my chair as my face becomes level with the board. I see a flurry of beige and black. They see their next move, their opponent's next move, the geometry of it all. I cannot see the pattern. They see it in seconds. How many, over the centuries, from Persepolis to Paris, from Bombay to Berlin, have been the chessmen?