When I go into Rock House today, I stare at the wall chart. And I think: ‘try again, fail better, try again, fail better, TRY AGAIN, FAIL BETTER’ after Samuel Beckett.
Three hours yesterday making the projector connect with my laptop. Twenty minutes today testing it out. It works. Blackouts are needed.
I try again on the wall sketchbook. I try not to think. To let it happen. To draw and write what I need to draw and write. It’s not working.
The sound piece is ready. All wired up. Will test it in the space next week. Earth:mother. The beat, the pulse, all seeing, all hearing, all ways there, all ways, all. It’s a loop.
ROUND AND ROUND WE GO. Enormous circle on the wall.
I have made one thinking cap. Thinking of making a few. You are what you think. Or not. Or.
ROCK postcards go up on a pillar. Still surprised at how many there are from my random collection of cards sent to me over the years. Rocks feature strongly. How much we attach to rocks. How attached we are to rocks.
“The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider’s web.” Picasso.
