Memories and Revelations

      MY CHILDHOOD was a soft thing- pastel coloured and velveteen edged. I moved in sunshine and I slept in a luminous God-bubble made of Gossamer and Dreams. There was an infinite road of hours ahead of me- who knew? Who knew then the speed of time? I was cushioned in the moment; swathed in deep- the first layers stood as tall as me....





Christmas was fabric baubles and delicate wooden people resting on brightly lit boughs- inches of sweet Lambrusco in striped brown shot glasses-the swirl of Chanel N.o 5 in the air- purple quality street wrappers for the cat to chase! And us to laugh at, who knew? Who knew then it couldn't last. The winter claimed her life- and left us choked up in the desert with the hot moon laughing years later....



The world types banal across the years but can't hack memory- I'm digitally stitched into a form I don't recognise with the days thickening behind me; the kind that can't be reached any more. Coloured papers folding back into the shape of trees;-Ah! this cruel remembering!

A papery life courting with fire

But this past holds me like glue



Search for something other than the generic tinned life. Tap into the lode. Dream on. Sail in snow. Keep fading and holding on to those tenuous links of life. Take a breath and another. Blink again. Let this life in.



A playground floats into my vision. I take the iron reins of the carousel horse. Ride the clock face. Which way to " Real? " Braintrees glimmer in reflections off the wet pavements. When I fall it is into these I stumble. Blindly, fantastically. Lost in diurnal dreams until I come up for air



Worked into the mould of a kind of quasi living. All the sun and breath being stuck under the skin. What is it about the colour white that stirs me so? Is it the memories or the untapped potential?