Who hasn’t, at some time or other, drawn a hopscotch grid—that satisfying combination of geometries and numbers that says “Play!”. Walking to the studio through an older neighborhood with uneven sidewalks I have come across a master work—a hopscotch drawing that snakes crookedly down the block disappearing out of the line of sight.
The number line turns the corner onto a side street not once, but twice. As they progress, the squares become more intricate, too small for a hopping foot, becoming a conceptual art, the progress of each 100 marked with large numerals and triumphant rays. How far could this go?
Later in the week, walking that way again, I find that the busy artist, unfazed by space limitations has begun a string of negative numbers attached to the original—clearly, an inspired, loopy representation of infinity. How many adult artists challenge this subject matter?
Among those who do, how many rest in the exuberant certainty that it is all a game?
Who hasn’t, at some time or other, drawn a hopscotch grid—that satisfying combination of geometries and numbers that says “Play!”. Walking to the studio through an older neighborhood with uneven sidewalks I have come across a master work—a hopscotch drawing that snakes crookedly down the block disappearing out of the line of sight.
The number line turns the corner onto a side street not once, but twice. As they progress, the squares become more intricate, too small for a hopping foot, becoming a conceptual art, the progress of each 100 marked with large numerals and triumphant rays. How far could this go?
Later in the week, walking that way again, I find that the busy artist, unfazed by space limitations has begun a string of negative numbers attached to the original—clearly, an inspired, loopy representation of infinity. How many adult artists challenge this subject matter?
Among those who do, how many rest in the exuberant certainty that it is all a game?