Conformity

There I was thinking about circles, ovals—flattened or rotund—when I began to draw them stacked up one on top of another. Confined to a space, confined to a shape, girded.

Then I allowed several to tumble out of the shape. As they moved toward the edge they created tension—loners edging away from the conformity of a fixed shape.

Conformity—the bane of life—often keeps us confined to particular ideas, preconceptions, outmoded ways of thinking. It's easier to conform to what is expected, to not make waves, to keep opinions that jar under wraps. What will "they" think? —that ubiquitous they.