I am finding it strangely difficult to return to the consideration of my art practice. My head is usually spilling with things to write about and I’ve got a clutter of notes waiting, but it seems half a day at hospital two weeks ago, for tests during which my heart got in distress (doctor’s words), has severed the connection. Every day I think ‘tomorrow’ I’ll write a post. I’m o.k.ish now, am crocheting again, have purchased items for my new project on ebay, but my heart isn’t quite in it yet (excuse the pun) and I’m lacking in the joy and excitement making usually brings – still, part of my artist-self continues on auto-pilot.
When I’m out of sorts I feel the need to clear stuff out. In my habitual slow-motion I’ve gone through boxes and drawers to see what I can get rid of. Everything here is overflowing. Apart from shoes, clothes and books there are boxes with artwork, materials, wools, hooks and needles, tissue and other papers, letters, old sketchbooks, miles of bubble-wrap, folded up cardboard boxes. All in a state of waiting. My head too is chock-full. A shutter has fallen down: I can’t take much in, find it hard to read, to engage with … I remember seeing a film by the Argentinian director Eliseo Subiela years ago, Last Images of a Shipwreck, in which one of the protagonists writes a word on the bedroom wall every night and crosses it out, in order to make room in his brain for a new one. A sentiment I understand completely. Today’s word is PREVARICATION*.
I haven’t thrown much out but made a bit of room and found a hairy thing which re-ignited a tiny little flame. Anyway, if I’m writing here I must be on the mind-mend. Off to make a cosy for my heart.
Regression blues (2011)
Materials: crocheted from cotton threads
Dimensions: 25 cm x 37 cm
* I just spent ages trying to get PREVARICATION crossed out, but couldn’t get the HTML-code to work here. FRUSTRATION is next on the list.
