Untitled|eight seventeen

Apricots
Black caterpillars
Blue washing lines
Mary, mother of Jesus, sings of her grief at the loss of her child
Midnight meadow-verge wild flowers

Sneezing white sheep
The colour of the absolute
Vanilla sponge cake
White magic
Withered clumps of thistle fluff – for the pillows of the dead

‘Indefatigable dazzling
terrestrial strangeness.’

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Untitled|seven seventeen — Tartiflette remix

Nesa Azadikhah, Sadness & Sorrow | Deep Sessions November 2015 (Deep House Tehran)
Bobbie*, Young Shields YSPS #004 (HIGHLY RECOMMENDED//PAL, Hamburg)
Chloé, BIS #721 (Lumière Noire, Rex Club, Paris)
Terence Dixon, On High Alert (Out-ER|Reduction| Detroit, Michigan)
Jane Fitz, live at the Pickle Factory April 28 (Hackney, London)
Samuli Kemppi, Luolamies 1 & 2 (Deep Space Helsinki)
Olivia, Cxemcast 051 (Szpitalna 1, Krakow)
These Hidden Hands, The Telepath feat. Julia Kotowski| Hypox1a Remix (Berlin)
Shlømo, Love Is A Coma (Taapion, Paris)
Eli Verveine, RA.325 (Zukunft, Zurich)

Untitled|six seventeen

Cornflower
Crocheted vintage track mitts—Liberté, égalité, fraternité
Hero mud
Holy Thursday
Glen Tilt

Guatemalan San Francisco
Portrait of Sea—selling fresh bread.


‘Nocturne: Die jungen blauen Hirsch’| 2017

‘Ringel, Ringel, Rosen| Schöne Aprikosen,| Veilchen blau, Vergissmeinnicht| Alle kinder setzen sich!’


‘A morning in summer, 1895’| 2017

Soft summer rain
The 26th Annual village walk; Spanish bluebell, wet leaves of Welsh poppy, blue violets, but no forget-me-nots.

Gardening Tools


‘There comes a time when time is not enough:
a hand takes hold or a hand lets go; cells swarm,
cease; high and cryless a white bird blazes beyond
itself, to be itself, burning unconsumed.’

Friday 5 – Tuesday 9 May

Untitled|five seventeen

Alternative summer calzoncino Adelaide; Albania.
‘Bound round with scald I’ve seen it fixed … I’ve seen the egg shells glitter through.’

Bridget Riley, Arround (1963)
EVIL Insurgent
Katherine Towers, Rain

Mackie’s Traditional ice cream … salted sugar popcorn sauce!
Purple shiny hoof oil
Sunflower seeds
The colour blue; and green.
‘With one another | let’s play; so come, O sparrow | who has no mother.’ ( – Issa )

Talisman

2007 Tel Aviv, Israel: 30 November Jerusalem, by Service Taxi;

the ‘Church of the Holy Sepulchre,’ also called the ‘Church of the Anastasis’ by Orthodox Christians, which according to tradition contains the two holiest sites in Christianity: Calvary – the site of Jesus of Nazareth’s crucifixion – and the empty tomb that is believed to have once held his body before the resurrection;

the ‘Franciscan Chapel of St. Mary Magdalene,’ where Mary met Jesus after his resurrection; here, I prayed, proxy for my mother who was in Inverness, Scotland. ‘And the grey cherry tree turning in its wash of rain| tonight I shall ask it in| the feast of leaves turning a quiet song …’

the Armenian Orthodox Patriarchate road, running the length of the ‘Couvent Armenien St. Jacques.’ As I walked along the street in bright sunshine – looking for a Service Taxi – a marble fell to the pavement from one of the windows of the convent and rolled to a stop between stones in front of me;

2017 Mallaig, Scotland; 6 April Tarbet, by mountain bike;

the ride is along one side of Loch Morar to the hamlet of Tarbet where a small ferry boat will take you back to Mallaig;

I often think of my mother when I see a white-haired old lady; when she is walking a dog, and always, if the dog is a black labrador. And so it was on this occasion at Inverie when the boat pulled in to pick up day-trippers to Knoydart;

I was inside the cabin when she and her husband sat down next to me. Her husband fell asleep almost immediately – the repetitive throbs of the engine, the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves, and the animal warmth of the cabin taking its toll. I wanted to say to her how warm and cosy her woollen gloves looked, and what a nice colour they were; gloves that were too big for her gentle and soft hands; gloves that she held on her knee crossed throughout the journey, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t find the words, couldn’t speak out loud;

in my guide pack along with an emergency shelter, SPOT beacon, first aid kit, bike repair tools, inner tubes, maps, waterproofs, spare and emergency clothing, food, water, more spare clothing, that is, along with all twelve kilo’s of the stuff I have to carry, I also, always, carry a glass marble – the glass marble – in a small tartan bag.

 

Untitled|four seventeen

‘And now she cleans her teeth into the lake …’ (William Empson)

‘The events of my life would fill more than a novel. It would take an epic, the Iliad and the Odyssey, and a Homer to tell my story … I won’t recount it today, I don’t want to sadden you. I have fallen into an abyss. I live in a world so curious, so strange.  Of the dream that was my life, this is the nightmare.’ (Camille Claudel to Eugène Blot| Montdevergues Asylum)


‘Camille Claudel: A Life,’ Odile Ayral-Clause—A life, romanticised in print and in film; this work of scholarship dispels some of the myths that have been woven around Claudel’s life, not least around her relationship with Auguste Rodin; it offers a more considered picture of her achievements as a major sculptor in the Paris art world of the late-nineteenth-century.


A morning in spring, 1895’| 2017

At night he dreamt| the smell of apples heaped on barges floating down the river| rough studies sleeping under some cloth.

‘He was unwrapped by her breathing; by the rise and fall of her eyelids.’ (Eugène Blot)

‘Conscious of sleep a moment, and stars, turned over, once in the night.’| 2017

Littlemill, Fortnightly, Ardlach, Coulmony, Ferness …| Flo – requiescat