01 02 03 Eleanor Greer: untitled. 04 05 15 16 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 31 32 33



I keep an ongoing Word document on my desktop that I occasionally elaborate...an ongoing something-or-other having to do with my life as I live it. As of tonight, I am a little fed up with my body's constant need to tick, to move, twitch and make patterns and though I am attempting to paint some of it, I wrote a little as well.

3-28-08 It began when I was young, still living in Tuckahoe, NY, and walking the stairs of our home. My right foot was even, my left was odd. The steps became numbered and I forced myself to end walking them on an even number, on my right foot. My hands have since then become a part of the pattern, my fingers drumming against the flesh of my palms as I walk, syncopated with the opposite foot. They do, in this way, harmonize with one another. The notes that constantly find their way into my mouth and out of my lips assume the off and on beats of these odd drummers and often, the beat of the steps of another passerby.
I constantly feel the rhythm of my body, my legs flexing to some unknown beat as I attempt to sleep at night or as I sit alongside a friend watching a film. I do not know why my mind felt the need to develop an outward system, the beating of the soles of my feet and fingers, but I am in someway connected to all of the world’s movement because of it.
35 36 37 38