What we mostly do is neither so noble nor so difficult,
Making mechanical reductions of received light,
Our daily efforts rising like a dry noise,
Like so many frogs on a summer night
Picking apart the density of space
To discover, eventually, our own purpose:
More continuance than curiosity.
Always we find ourselves at the divergence
Of two paths, travelling out.
Otherwise , our questions
Would already have been answered.
Before the day find a chalk pebble with a round hole in it about 1 inch across and hide it in the building.
At 18.30 in the evening of 28th September run and retrieve it then go out onto the balcony where the cafe is, stand, face the sun, hold up the stone and calmly watch the sunset through it. You can take no photographs of the sun setting through it. If it is raining or cloudy still do it looking towards where the sun is setting. Careful with your eyes if it’s bright sunshine, blur them, or look through carefully with eyes half shut.
You can stop at 18.45. Hide the pebble again.
Victoria 3 August 2013
I need to go and find a chalk pebble
went to the beach
found a white shell with a hole and 3 white pebbles, will hide the shell.
find places to hide
lie all the orange chairs on their backs
see things differently
sit at the last table in last chair
hug the cold ceramic pillar arms behind my head
reflect inside and out
places to hide the hollow stoneshell
on chair tried to place it up in corner slice
behind stairs on inside edge
low on floor far edge
in between railing and wall
sequence, stairs, wall edge, corner, high
‘looking’ different from ‘listening’ yesterday
Is this building reflecting images with no depth, ourselves back to ourselves, pushing us out while allowing us in?
Is it hearing us? Taking our words and actions in, putting history in or is it reflecting it away? The question of whether buildings hold memories becomes harder. I know it holds my memories, and my father in 1935/6 the opening night, he fell through the plush flip up seats in the auditorium, but they are in me.
Knowing the letters from the old wording over the door exist in someone else’s home, a solid memory taken away.
that lovely thing that sea and sky does when asking nothing more indistinct horizon makes them indivisible
‘picking apart the density of space’
the hidden shellstone fell from its hiding place, I changed it, lucky I was still here, it can always go missing
lighthouse of the voice
slow swirl muffled,raw, muffled, raw
a white mac
slow woven encasing of fotheringale
hands dripping chalk tears
as lighthouse song continued
With eyes shut try moving from the front door to stairway and up.
First time someone walked into me but on the stairs someone waited and asked if I was ok, very worried for me. This will take practice. It is remarkable that I have no idea of what is happening , how people react, it is uncomfortable, perhaps one needs a witness.
hot, tired, everyone is rushing to the sea
astroturf is covered with white feathers
listening, it is the door to the outside that hit’s loudly, and heels on shoes of women,
there is little speed but constancy, this building must collect footbeats with the walking of slow people if it has memories it is of unsteady feet on its skin,
GILL arrives with 4 folders of art work about the dlwp. I sit and look at them in the north stairway with the unbelievable noise of the blow up, few visitors here.
practice blind stairs here a gentlemean stops me “are you alright?”, Can I give you a hand, he had it open to me as he held the bannister, he was worried for me.
Another elderly gentleman was watching through the glass “you frightened me so much, thought you were a ghost”
Went for a drink , choreography around the water table, four waiters, a cook through the door, more black clothes, met Josh.
Bob: fixing the toilets they’ll mind when I’m gone… I have already seen ‘regulars’ and its only day two
there are 28 steps down
on the long bench in the front hall I stretch out, lay back and crouch over in slow motion many times, it seems unnoticeable.
Sky runs down the stairs, Sean goes up and out with coffee, only the ‘inmates’ move fast
politeness pervades this public space
sitting right upstairs on the top balcony voices carry, I can listen to any conversation below me word for word, ‘you almost feel as if you are in a curved horizon.’
a Buddhist monk in purple and yellow just walked away from the pavilion
I found a hiding place I had forgotten and put myself in it. Felicity arrived. I walked the stairs blind for her, then the north stairs, then from the front of the building up to first floor and out again. I know where I have been in space but no idea of its effect.