Stirring in between spaces; whisperation, murmerette

ARTIST’S NOTEBOOK
Week 5

Night Visits

I’ve been on a quest
for the immediacy

The moment here.
The breath, the whisper
In the space between
The whisper of wind is unseen.
A visual artist makes visible
the invisible senses?
The hidden things
in between the spaces.
Negative space
Dark matter
Other world faces
Rain spatter.
Water floods and 
fire takes to the sky
an elemental maelstrom
A sparkle in your eye.


I have been thinking about The Whisper

Whispering is defined as speaking very softly using ones breath instead of ones vocal chords.

This makes sense of the phrase “the whisper of wind”

Which, in turn, explains my sense that a whisper can touch, tickle, and stir movement in your state of being the way that wind can touch the skin.

Tickle

Buffet

Push mightly in gusts

Blow out the cobwebs

Play with your hair

Chill you to the bone

I tense myself against autumnal winds

Go giddy in the summer breeze at dusk

In all these ways the breath can speak to the body

The wind can carry sounds

and meanings

but it’s touch and impact is below sight

experienced with all the senses

or not noticed at all

like the whisper

‘the underground’ momentum

of the invisible river

on which I sail my boat.

Inside-Outside Conflict

Yesterday was demanding and today will demand more of me.
(show up, show up anyway?)

I wrote this morning a stream of consciousness, and I find that although it was inspired by an everyday encounter and not this project specifically, I notice the themes I am exploring have weft and wove throughout my perception and provided metaphors with which to express the experience.

Enjoy!


There is a conflict between Inside and Outside,
Rapunzle’s tower feels so tempting today:
Hunker down
Retreat
Withdraw.
Anger burns up the walls
from the furnace of my heart
Come close and the flames will lick you
yes, Dancing in the fire
That’s my idea of a good day today.
Alchemy transforming the elements at my borders
New crystalline mementos…
not gargoyle heads
not medusa heads
not lion heads
not papyrus or paint pots
flowers! yes, flowers
Blooming like the night lily
on the border between sky and pond.

There is a conflict between inside – outside.
Do I keep up my walls
and perform, stoic as a buttress?
Do I dress myself in crocodile’s
in a moat bordering my childish upswell
with a warning snap to give me time?
Time to feel
Time to think
Time to respond.

Aha, see, there is the conflict
Truly I don’t fare well alone with my thoughts
Alone with my words
Alone with my ideas,
Running round and round like stale bread in tin.

There is the conflict:
How easy it would be to withdraw from the not me,
the not wanted, the not cool,
Paying the price in rigid conclusions
and stony constructions encrusting my mind with
a labyrinthine resolve to protect my ideas of self and other
Suspended like a moth in a specimen glass
Against my instinct
My training
My advice.

I need the outside, the other, the
input battering my keep
with the energy and colour of a summer rain
creating rainbows in the autumnal chill
To grow
To learn
To revitalise:
The phenomena of intra-action
The entanglement of multiple beings
Be-ing in this life
This ecosystem.

The place between this Inside mood
and Outside pull tugging at my skirts
like twenty cubs, or a vigorous wind.
How many mothers, parents, sisters, brothers
feel harassed by the pull of other world desires?
Two worlds meet in the space between.

I don’t really desire solitude,
just a place to stand where I can be;
Be one of many on the lily pads
Drinking from the top and bottom
of an ecosystem that supports me
(too).

Day 3; Water Lily Adaptions

ARTISTS JOURNAL

“Maija, you are the day, and I am the night!”

(Kimvi commenting on our work routines)

Following my last post about Day 1 in the Rotunda, I received some WhatsApp messages from my fellow collaborator Kimvi Nguyen. I am unlikely to see much of her in person during the project, as ‘life’ dictates a kind of tag team routine while I go in the morning and she after work, after dark. Her messages showed she had arrived, and after some difficulty accessing the building left me a surprise for me to find the next morning.

My second day on ‘lily-pad island’ was spent preparing my thoughts. I wrote a stream of consciousness on paper, in which I asked myself…

“Where am I in all of this?”

I began giving voice to the water all around me, “I am not the sky or the trees you see reflected here…” that sort of thing. And I remembered the membrane or ‘skin’ of the water. I noted it was the border between “above and below”.

Frankly, day 2 was miserable.

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