The Stretchiness of Time


 

2015 was tied up in this book, in the rigidity of one page: one week, when some weeks felt empty of expression and some pages felt too small for all that was flooding out of my imagination.

 

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By mid year it had taken on a thick, heavy persona with paint all gooey and chewy and some weeks where no amount of layers would cover up the uncomfortable truths of ugly: a parallel to the world it was illustrating. Something intangibly off. Something meh. Some things I didn’t like, didn’t like confronting, didn’t like to witness. I didn’t want to relive, repeat, or even properly acknowledge.

The book served a purpose: A lesson in being a grown up is knowing when to persevere, and when to stop. I persevered. And when the year was up I was glad the book was full. Finished. Finally time to move on. Onto what next. 

What next?

 

…And then a really long time seemed to pass, and I rested. A really long time that went quickly, and dragged slowly and passed in a flash.
Because Time is Weird like that…

 

I found myself cutting out shapes from magazine pages, scrap paper and junk mail. Something was stirring, I didn’t know what…

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Last week I fell into a new facebook group run by the gorgeously art journally Orly Avineri. It was the catalyst I needed to jump into this new book.

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I’ve got gesso under my nails and ink on my face again.

I feel like I’ve come home! 

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This book is different, there are no limitations and no rules.

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Free to fly in and out, land a while –

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‘Take a closer look’ –  the serendipity of the cut up.

– chat with my thoughts, flit off again.

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It takes as long as it takes.

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I’m getting more and more aware that by pouring out my unconscious I can steer myself through this life in a fashion not like anything else.

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It’s a compulsion.

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You get this too, right?

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Everything that was feeling stale and sludgy has dropped away since just this first page.

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Life feels like spring time: new pages are beginning to blossom.

13 thoughts on “The Stretchiness of Time

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