Your cart is currently empty!
It’s wonderful to be finally living my art life. The one I’ve read about, planned, danced around, grasped, rejected, lost, realised.
It isn’t a medium like … I’m a writer, I’m a poet, I’m a painter, I’m a dancer.
It’s the way the sun shines onto a dirty mop and makes a tiny ant look like something else.
It’s finding a spare nail for your jacket.
It’s the exhibition guide to a San Francisco art gallery under a heap of nursing text books, it’s the open door to a cathedral, it’s music surging onto a dirty street, it’s getting out two stops early and walking under trees, it’s the little girl sitting alone on a rickety see-saw waiting for a playmate, it’s rising at 4.30am and spilling out your morning pages, it’s getting quiet and still and listening for the creative.
It’s taking time to see.