If you’re reading this and you know me (and, let’s be honest — if you are reading this, you probably do), you know that I have rediscovered the bicycle. I used to commute by bike when I first moved to Seattle, and then a bad wreck and the circumstance of living mere blocks from work and entertainment meant that the bike started gathering dust more and more. Enter parenthood, etc. You get the picture.

But for the past six months or so, I’ve been riding to my day job pretty near every day, rain or shine. Some days, it’s the best part of my day. Every day, it’s a chance to get invigorated in the morning, and blow off steam on the way home. In general, it’s keeping me happier and healthier, and I even have lab results from my annual physical to prove it.

On the way home from work last night, I stopped at the downtown Seattle Public Library and picked up a book that I had put myself on the wait list for. My number finally came up and it was ready for pick-up: Bicycle Diaries by David Byrne. Yes, that David Byrne. I just cracked it this morning, and was so struck by his description of cycling in the introduction that I thought I would share it here:

“It sounds like some form of meditation, and in a way it is. Performing a familiar task, like driving a car or riding a bicycle, puts one into a zone that is not too deep or involving. The activity is repetitive, mechanical, and it distracts and occupies the conscious mind or at least part of it, in a way that is just engaging enough but not too much — it doesn’t cause you to be caught off guard. It facilitates a state of mind that allows some but not too much of the unconscious to bubble up.”

Now, that sounds pretty familiar. It sounds like riding, sure. But it also sounds like the way I work in the studio. To be more precise, it sounds like why I work in the studio.

I’m in the process of gluing together a bunch of new panels. I love how they look when they are bristling with clamps.