Friday, 31 July 2009


It's now fading fast, but this is the wrapper that contained my bundle that hung out the Winter as part of the Disintegration Project set up by Seth over at The Altered Page. (Be sure to take a look at the other links that will be appearing there over this weekend. A treat in store.) Anyway, I've had this blue page on my desk all these months and soon the remaining shadowy lines will have faded away with the sunlight. Seems fitting that it goes it's own way and disappears from sight.

It's been a great project to take part in. I have had a ball. So many ideas have come from these lines that remind me of a reluctant star. I've been noticing that star shape in all sorts of places, particularly as I have been looking at one of my geraniums that sits on the window sill. It's own cycle of flowering and fading makes it's own disintegration project that I've felt compelled to take notice of.

The tea bags that came home as slightly damp and mouldy treasures have now fallen apart. The next shot is of the abstract that appeared on one of those bags as it hung in the rosemary bush.  I did nothing, just cropped the shot. 

The final shot is of a canvas that was a collage of lots of the other papers that were in the bundle. I made such a total mess with it. (But it was fun!) I had to resort to sticking it out in the rain for a week long weather wash. It was finished off with me throwing my ink pot over it and washing the final sticky dregs of rosehip tea away. 

But there is more....No surprise that the faded blue wrapper has brought writing as well. 

Running to the corner shop

Pavement cracks, a scatter of feet, laces coming undone, the adventure of each corner. Peep round. Keep a look out. Step off and DIE. Aghhhhhhhhh.....Faster faster faster, no one sees if you miss a corner. You are so fast no-one sees you anyway. You are just a seven year old boy who never shuts up. Invisible, obviously. 

Words pour out of you like a spell sung to the manic riffs of a blues harmonica and a bottle top band. Arms reach out to balance carefully, mouth set across sucked teeth, round that tricky bit that makes you go quiet. The lines suddenly become high walls raised to keep out invaders form the secret fortress. Invaders like you. Gymnast on a four inch beam. You leap in the air with one Kung Foo foot leading the way, and ruthless scissor arms slice off enemy swords. Fly, twist and land, pristine. A perfect 10, on the topmost stone.

From the turret, you gaze out at the web of walls, the territory spreading out beneath you, like a kingdom to be conquered. A map of lines, the veins of a river reaching the sea. You are running into it, you are so magic that you can touch the cracks now and you are immune. Feet, come on feet, keep up with this brave heart. They know which way to go. Could do it in the dark. Down through the labyrinth of high walls, avoiding dead end traps and pits of terror. Faster, so fast, you are almost off the ground. And as the last stones suddenly collapse and scatter apart and away into a sudden cliff fall, you watch them plunge into the breakers below of a raging white sea. Caught out of breath as the updraught drags you into a gulp of sky that pulls the parachute of your cloak into the gift of wings.

From way up there, the angles of the pavement cracks have become the luxury of smooth curves as you swoop and dive looking down on the strange world that has just become your own.