Zoe Catherine Kendall, artist, writer and human...


Monday, 27 September 2010

Mental deviations persist (below the image)...


































(above: Head fuck by Zoe Catherine Kendall, acrylic on acrylic paper, 2010, self-series.blogspot.com)

The present storm; deviations and meanderings...

“Everything, with significance brought to, all images as places of interest, all nominated stories and moments of living.

You are here with me. We are the same yet different.

£69 spent on the pursuit of knowledge, but that's ok, even for a pauper. I gathered 15 or so little editions for that, and I feel ready to devour them.

It's strange, I’ve been feeling tired recently, ill or maybe it's just the smoking, I don't know. All the tests show up ok, so perhaps it's just psychosomatic. I want to go home, I’m homeward bound, in search of something. I want to make tea with ritual attached and absorb these books. I know I am going to translate their meaning using the patterns of my life experiences thus far. I know it's just an interpretation, but that makes it more personal. In the book shop, I felt touched. Glimpses of a universal narrative seemed to be twitching, calling out to me. I embraced their call.

Mum was the same on the telephone, interested in commerce more so then well being. Perhaps the two are interconnected shadows, but the route is still different. I wish her route into me was less obvious, more ingenious, but then I wouldn't be me. It's ok mum, I accept you as you are. Love is something different, but the attachments at least are not in question.

That's an emotive word for me; attachment. Many people are fearing, especially those you accidentally love. There are lessons here, and non lessons, I am sure of it. Meanings, meaningless meanderings, a message still. Being apart in love is something I know of, crossed paths, echoes and stains. Non attachment has been recommended to me, but I am equally suspicious of it. The current agenda is the current, that is to say, we are living now.

So I dressed the scene, poured the tea and was anxious, it was time to begin..

The taste of the yogurt had changed after being in contact with the fruit. Its subtleties had (disappointedly) disappeared. I managed to get some on my best scarf too.

The books were very emotive; clearly I wasn't alone.

You know that moment I'm talking of, just imagine; smoking a cigarette, poignantly self reflective, looking in on yourself, feeling everything that has ever happened; to you, around you, breathing it in as if to memorise every minute detail, extracting meaning so as to place yourself within it.. you know that moment I’m talking about, well it doesn’t exist any more.

I'm holding on to everything that is holding on to me. I am remaining a coexistent, remaining in a relational field to all other things. But if I were to let go..? Let go of all those ties, just relax my grip, a bit at first, and then totally, what then? Would it matter? Would I still exist? I believe so, I think I would, but differently. Do I need to hold on, and if so, how tightly should I hold? Is it going to be a rough ride, I mean, are we talking about a risk that I could fall, drop and be lost to you? Are we talking of a real risk here? I'm not sure if the appropriate risk assessments have been carried out, I’m not completely sure if there is an answer to this just yet. I'm holding on to the cigarette, holding on for dear life, I know that much, but not much more right now.”

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