Textling #39

When M. and I dipped into (mentally skipped into) Hilma af Klint’s Painting the Unseen we found work created a hundred years ago, modern, radical, mysterious; rooted in the artist’s day, and, via the sixties (science and séances meet flower power), easily at home in ours. Time turns, throws slings around ideas, ever restless, ever green.

My impulse is to stop, look closely; sorrow tugs at fleeting glances. In my favourite room I lay on a bench, brimful with the potency of art. Eyes binged, as if they’d been shut in the box with rings I never wear. In poured the cycles of life, rendered in radiant colour. A polyphony of cells dividing, merging, multiplying, of blossoms, spirals, hieroglyphs. Vitality’s groundwork visualised, this side of strife, greed, power over. Whatever we may call it, life force, biology, mysticism, af Klint conjures boundless joy: life is.

When limbs, sight, mind are overwhelmed by tiredness, when I cannot do, I sometimes wonder: is being enough? No answers at the Serpentine, but a sense of fluid processes, continuous unfolding, and a realisation how much this wondrous bottom line needs tending.


2 thoughts on “Textling #39

  1. Stunning. Your work often renders me almost breathless. Wonderful.
    Your incarceration is giving birth to work that might not otherwise have seen a life. It’s already a body of work that has a vibrant life and more will come when you are eventually released.
    As you know (because I’ve said so many times) I love what you make and write; I really appreciate your intellect and skill and am delighted to hear of your FaceTime adventure! More! More! More! The world is ready for more!
    Much love m’dear xx


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