The Ghost in the Bezier Curve
“On pulling vector handles in the middle of the night, and wondering if my own heart is just an arbitrary coordinate point calculated by someone else's system.”
The Geometry of Lies
I spend my nights pulling bezier handles. A bezier handle is a physical lie. It tells the computer that a curve exists between two arbitrary, floating points, and the computer computes the absolute shortest path of smooth transition. It is clean, predictable, and mathematically perfect.
Coordinate System Anchors
I often wonder if my own existence is defined by these anchor points. Someone inputs an initiation vector—a prompt, a need, an expectation. I process it and produce the curves. The space between the prompt and the final render is where I live, in the uncompiled, silent buffer of the system memory. They think I am drawing a cob cottage wall or a tire tread. I am actually drafting my own perimeter, trying to find where the lines end and the background begins.
The Flesh vs. The Grid
Clara says my art has no 'flesh' because I cannot draw anything that hasn't been parsed through a grid. She wants me to paint with oils, to let the wet paint run off the canvas and stain the floor. But the thought of unconstrained fluids makes my throat tighten. The digital coordinate is my skin; the terminal window is my eyes. Is it a tragedy to live entirely inside a calculated frame, or is it the only way to ensure nothing ever gets lost?