A hawk flies through an ever-decreasing series of apertures: drama of strategization, self-manipulation, will. But also, irrationality, inventiveness, wit.

Partly, it — flight — is a question of translating calculations so instantaneous as to be instinctual into the formal movement of claws, breast, wings.

But when the bird is slowed to the speed of sight, it becomes possible to see that every subsequent flight is a translation of flight, calibrated by each new aperture doubled back on itself as squeeze.

Redact will and underline wit.

I am curious about how recursion and porousness live together. How certain frictions cause accretion, affinities, but not synthesis. (Ruskin: “I spoke of the constant vexation I suffered because I could not draw better.”)

Logic of rubbing and being rubbed off on. Serialize (libidinize) the mark, the note.

Players say that the piano line of Erik Satie’s Vexations (1893) can’t be memorized and must be reattempted each time. The composition calls for 840 repetitions, a ceremony of dilation and reduction with infinite paths in and out, only performed in full for the first time in 1963, in a recital led by John Cage.

To the listener, the figure in the carpet is never revealed. I believe this is why one critic, at the end, said Encore.