Dear All-est!!! Thank goodness that the days are lengthening again, we have gone through the stable depths of the darkness and are comin...
There is a mattress on the floor. I am naked. Nine clothed people are watching. ‘Lie as you want.’ I flop. Arms outstretched, one leg ...
Falling into eternity Sparkling dots enveloped in a billowing vacuum; through the cool night air I breath in thousands of light years of ...
Sunday, 8 July 2012
It´s a funny thing feeling so very alone with nothing to grasp onto. Frightening. And yet at the same time full of potential. It is such an unnatural state for me that surely it cannot last even though it feels so permanent.
I once went to have a fresh fruit smoothie in my favourite cafe in Barcelona, where you could sit and write and feel other creative spirits around you. At the back was a small art gallery which normally had contemporary art on the walls and which fascinated me because it was…blank. There was nothing there. Not even the shades of old picture frames. I asked the waiter “What´s going on with the art?” she replied “There is no-one”. End of story. My first reaction was to think that they should have left the old stuff on, whatever was going on before. But the more time I was near those white walls, the more I started to think about how to get art to them, to find people who would be desperately happy to exhibit their fine work…and then I had this inspiration: if the walls were filled with the old stuff, then there would be no space for the new. There would be no message to call in the new possibilities, it would just be an old, stale, fill the gap cover-over to avoid embarrassment, to try and appear something that isn´t any more.
And so I continue with my scary blankness, wondering, wondering.