A moment of confession...

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..in that bethel of sound

I aroused my dark thoughts into silent invocation.

A small utterance of protest,

Against the darkening pall of wasteful words.

A thrown mass that held a storm

in its gravid deliverance.

The moist air heavy,  

abounding with consequence.

I held my breath,

and dove beneath the weight of sound,

to enter a deep sea of silence.

What do you have to say?

Will it improve on silence?

I have realised of late, that I use chatter like a bridge between meaningful conversation. To all of you that know me well, I can hear you having a chortle-"Well, um yeah, the girl loves a chat." It's true.

Ever since I was a child, I've talked too much. Every teacher said it, some debating whether or not I have anything worth banging on about. I use words to connect, to soothe, to scold, to lift, to lighten, to laugh, to protest, to ponder and to question.

Some days I never stop with the endless drudge of bloody words until I fall exhausted into bed, heaving big old sighs of wiped-out-sick-of-the-sound-of-my-own-voice.

Lately I've become more aware of the sheer volume of waste that pours forth from my muzzle. Just loose cannon blah-blah stuff that interrupts the quiet, it's made me question-

"Do I have anything to say that will improve on silence?"

I've begun to daydream about transforming into the strong silent type. Or at the very least, just the sometimes quiet one.

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The truth is I love silence. The three am quiet that descends on the house. Hallways filled with soft breathing and stillness, a dog far-off. All is far away in that moment. Putting on my coat and stepping outside, black trees against an indigo sky, the gentle light of the moon, the grass seems laid out smooth.

In this soft, languid quiet it's hard to fathom anything other than a peaceful world.

I am reminded of my time as a painter. It took me many years to arrive at a balance point in my work. It's experience and a good dose of confidence that prompts you to leave space in a painting. A place to rest- it's like visual silence.

Why not apply the same principal to speech? "Will it improve on silence?" Or music, television, media. So much noise and distraction and entertainment. We have arrived at some strange place of fear- that silence might hold some uncomfortable truth at it's centre.

But what if all that it held was a profound state of peaceful awareness? Nothing more or less than that. I'm so desperate for a little space to rest...

Quiet.

Following the brush....a lesson in letting go.

IMG_1833 What a pleasure to while away a few days in the studio.

I had forgotten that smell of oily rags and the sharp smack of chemical mediums. Brushes that fit snug in the hand, after years of use, the bristles turn knowingly. "Watch your head!" The rack I used to hit my head on, no longer catches me unaware. I covet the sunny morning light and cool afternoon shade. The chickens sometimes lay a sneaky egg in the dark corner.

We've seen some times, this room and I. It knows a good deal of my secrets and has heard me sing loud and long into the night. (I thought no one was listening).

It's nice to not have to please a gallery. Free time. To play, pull out the crazy colours and have fun. I listen to Dylan and The Doors, music from my wayward youth. Janis Joplin when I fight with my partner, Dave Mathews when I love him.

I don't need to think about the washing or working in the garden. I may not answer the phone and emails are far from my mind. I just am. I'm here to just happily follow my brush.