My summer intentions regarding my poetry project were perhaps ambitious but I wanted to test myself and push the work forward - one sequence having manifested to draft stage, 3 more sequences or sets of poems to do. As it is the 3 ‘undrafted’ sets have come to exist in/as structure - they have become form driven, inhaling words to varying degrees of intention and satisfaction (my own). There is a comfort in this - I have come to learn that if it has its form, it can exist...
And so with its forms in place the work has definitely taken on a life of its own. So much so that I continue to be at times observing it unfold - which is a little unnerving - that it has managed to become a distinct entity - pulsing beyond my conscious control, refusing to settle into a path of least resistance that I may have been attempting to wave at from. It can, and does, suggest its own paths now. Sometimes I have to wait to find out what these are - meanwhile I’m left drumming my fingers on the bark of a tree eager to move on.
Impatiently I wanted this work drafted and finished - but I’m compelled to listen to it - why would I not when it has gathered this momentum? Also, having discarded a lot of work as unsatisfactory before this piece of work came to suggest itself - I have developed the feeling that I can be patient, that I needn’t fear that this piece will die on me - it has become too strong a presence.
So I continue on with a nervous excitement to see this thing - but is it leading me astray? I think I can trust it - I’ve spent enough time with the structures, themes and motifs of the work for that. Perhaps my misgivings come in part from the sudden shock that my baby is beginning to realize itself as a separate being. As I push / am pulled on, I’m hoping it hasn’t become too much of a monster and that I can manage to let it breathe in the words it needs in order to become itself.
Sourced cheap (£12.50!!!) train tickets to go to London last Wednesday with my daughter to visit the Matisse exhibition before it closes today. We traveled, (not following football) unexpectedly, with England football supporters from Manchester which made for interesting overheard conversations.
This was my first time on the underground tube - moving rather fast and challenging my vertigo on the seeming maze of escalators. My reality shifted - being thrown into all these lines and angles and machinery took me into the realm of modernist paintings. Negotiating the metal stairwell, to get the first tube to Greenway Park, with the dry heat building as we spiraled downwards, I was reminded of Dante and the descent into hell! An overworking imagination aside, the tube journey was rather good.
Another shift in reality occurred as we passed a block of apartments ranging from 3.45 million with its own version of a corner (?) shop. We went to the Poetry and Dream exhibition which I was excited to note had work by Joseph Beuys. I was also particularly intrigued by the Brodsky Utkin imaginary architectures. Even though we had to book a time slot to look at Matisse’s work it was still packed with people vying for space to observe Matisse’s work from chosen vantage points. In our hour visit, the 14 rooms proved wonderful and exhausting to wander through while absorbing all the fantastic colours and shapes across Matisse’s whole practice in our very short span of allowed space and time.
We were lucky enough to be in Cagnes sur Mer last summer - a place Matisse visited and fell in love with the quality of the light there. He is quoted as saying ‘When I realized I would see that light every morning, I could not believe my happiness’ - and as I looked at piece after piece of Matisse’s work I realised that it is the colours in his art pieces which are the hypnotic attention holding element.
We got home around 1am and I was back to work the next day brimful of colour and shape - a happiness absolutely worth it.