It’s difficult to describe the last few months, dislocation from previous life, removal of old context go some way to explaining my current state of mind and life. A sense of content adriftness, an alienation that is both sweet and consuming. The projects of house renovation, something I never took to seriously, stutter on, bit by bit and love has entered my life, the house is now a home.
I think about art and creativity, but find little time or inclination. I meditated on this subject as I sharpened an axe. Squat on the floor, semi dark, an incantation of sound and material, I thought of performance, I thought of ritual and I thought of all the contrived actions of that world. Today my performance is real, as the action and ritual slowly possess me. My boredom threshold is extending, as I sharpened the axe, I found myself enjoying the rhythm of steel on stone, I wasn’t impatient, I kept at it…durational.
John Berger died this week. I think of him as I walk in our wood. I look at the woodpiles I have made, the collections of twigs, the lean-to of larger branches, the cut grass, and the embers of a fire.
I stand and stare, absently, often, then I begin work again.