(Every month I participate in the Treesister’s wonderful, nourishing, Full Moon Calls and journal the experience. Sometimes I share the experience here too.)
So,this is the last of this six week cycle.
Belong. Belonging to Life.
I have put off sharing this as I could not work out how best to make this post.
I think this may be the last of these Full Moon shares for a while.
In drifting away from the screen the way I am called to, I am drifting away too from all online connections.
I will still be meditating every Full Moon, but am curious now in ‘loosing the narrative’.
Hopefully those ‘unguided’ meditations will also inspire creation!
Head has been too hungry for information and full of searching possibilities to be able to make art these last few months.
Trying to make some kind of sense of it all and failing miserably.
This drawing broke a period of crushing ‘artist’s block’.
A weird kind.
Too many inspirations. Mind like rapids.
In a state of constant inspiration.
Never starting anything.
Never finishing anything.
Podcasts, drama, radio constantly on.
Fascinated and horrified by these times in equal measure.
Watching it all play out and, at the same time, come closer.
Sometimes obsessing about the way that, as a wave goes out, there is a crossover point, and that is when the gravel hisses.
An emotional gyroscope.
Meditation an essential coping mechanism, that I am not always doing.
Doing this drawing helped.
I have not yet, fully understood, what this pencil drawing, inspired by the guided meditation, speaks to me.
It is still landing.
This is an attempt to share one ‘still’ image that arose during the meditation.
One that stayed with me days later.
One that called to be drawn out.
It arrived as an intuitively, evolving, work.
A combination of ink-jet print and pencil.
Interesting, that it is a picture of a ‘blockage’ ……. the figure seemed very peaceful…..
I call it ‘Holding Back the Tide.’
From notes 24/6/21:
“Full Strawberry Moon.
Embrace the World.
Sandy soil giving way to pure sand. Mediterranean? Pines in a beach edge.
Deep dappled shade.
River estuary to my right through the trees.
Ahead a clear, straight, HORIZON.
Relcutant to leave the shade.
No shade at the edge of the sandy estuary.
Stepping into the punishing glare.
Leaving one way tracks across the silty sand.
Stepping into the river.
Fresh and Salty.
Floating down stream, then stopped from going ‘all out to sea’, caught in a basket-shaped, natural, ‘harbour’ of water-bleached, smooth, river-drifted, wood.
Gently held by those broken limbs.
Reminded again of ‘Debris’. (A character I wove in 1992, for my peculiar degree show, who still haunts me somehow.)
Back to floating.
In the calmer water behind this wooden ‘pocket’.
The rest of the river continues to roar past alongside.
Important not to let myself be caught in its pull.
Very aware of Air and Water.
Supported by the sky above and the briney water below.
Exploring the air and water within my own body.
Kind of dissolved. Like salt.
Looking straight up at the ever-changing sky.
My breath joining them, creating more clouds.
Sandwiched between Sky and Water.
Bridging Water and Sky.”
“Tides, washing up and flotsam, jetsam.
White sprays tinged with grey and floating matter, all too ready to latch onto the back of her brain.
Vultures disguised as gulls, snap and scream, waiting for the water’s waste to choke her up completely, then to swoop and gnaw.
Sneakily paranoid of their intentions.
Rocking in a sea-like motion, (narrator rocks) sailing her old memories and collecting all the junk, clogging up her veins.
Debris crying salty tears for the beautiful ocean she remembers, now a solid field of left behinds and waste.”
(extract from ‘Spook’ : performance by Kat Robertson. 1992)