In my brain is a tree. Its trunk is the brain stem, its leaves are thoughts, a myriad of them, many that look the same. Its roots spread out along the byways to the very edges of me where they take in air and sunshine and sustenance. The trunk divides in two, one leader in each half of my brain, and in each, amid the complications of branches is a crow.
Now, you may not recognise the voice of a crow as song because they’ve had a bad wrap, but they sing of sunshine and wings, grubs, the dank delicious flesh of the freshly dead, and they sing of love and babies, just like we all do.
And what they sing with, is air, like the air on the intricate surface of our skin or in each alveoli of our lungs, the air that courses through all of those byways of brain and body, and trunk and leaves.
The performance poem I wrote for the exhibition, Solastalgia, at Fabrik, in Lobethal. More details about this series of exhibitions, here.
The drawing is mine, drawn with charcoal from my burnt home. It ended up being about 13 metres long on the beautiful wall of this gallery. It is as ephemeral as my home apparently was, and will be washed off that wall eventually. But all kudos to Melinda Rankin (director of Fabrik) for facilitating it.
Also kudos to all of the people involved in the exhibition, especially Jo Wilmot (creator of Solastalgia, The Exhibition) and Evette Sunset who said I mentored her when it was the other way around. We all learn from each other anyway, so who needs labels.
My drawing on the wall at Fabric, Woollen Mills, Lobethal, till 15th March. The exhibition as a whole is simply beautiful. Delicate, gentle, powerful, and healing. (Mine was certainly cathartic to do.) I’ll do another presentation of my performance poem and a reading from the book published for the exhibition at 2.00 on the 7th and 15th of March. On the 7th I’ll also do an artist talk.
This was a few years ago now. He’s probably forgotten what ‘me-me’ is by now. I wonder if there is a deep longing, the source of which he’s forgotten.
I’ve got one of those unexplained longings. It’s strongest after sun down. I doubt it has anything to do with my mother, but who knows? What I want, what we all want, is a deep abiding connection. To each other. To the world. Maybe the last time we felt a connection like that was at our mother’s breast.
So. Did my Artist in Residence spot yesterday. What does one demonstrate? It needs to be something that you can do and talk at the same time and that is not necessarily easy because while one is using the spacial areas of the brain it is really hard to talk. That’s why, while driving, if someone cuts you off or does something funny, you have to stop talking.
So I decided to play around with ink. Abstracts and mark making, what it does well and what different types of ink, blotters and paper can do.
And then of course is the masterpiece that is the blotting paper. Sometimes more interesting than the intended things.
but this, actually, sums up the idea behind the day:
and that’s not a complaint. I love being a performing seal. (Thanks Warick, per kind favour Rose, for the wording)