‘to be Living or growing in or beside a lake’
Portsmouth December 19th
All surfaces around me are covered in a thin layer of fine ash – almost every minute I have to wipe the slate clean with a half hearted palm enabling me to read what lays beneath. Those snappy hidden words laying in wait for biteback and calm.
Discover secrets – family secrets – where can I see the touch of ‘his hand’ – which linage does the aspergers tumble down – uninhabited peaks on frozen islands.
I treasure the differences – minimalist in nature as each memory slips away from me – ptsd dstp ptsd dtsp has a certain symmetry in its dissonant attitude.
but the colour? where has the colour come from within this work – each time I brush the ash away, pull back the sheets I find colours….grown from non existent grey – you comfortable black and white thinker.
Amygdala
In my head filled with fear
In the tuff filled with hot born crystal
laid down in still waters
still
I find traces
I find connections – joyful
I find meanings by continuing to scribe numbers and letters in printed squares in the dead of night
no drawing yet
no drawing yet
no drawing yet
they will spill when the time is right
tick tock
tick tock
tick
tic
ic
