The artist suggests that the image is a stillness; for myself the image is a precursor to movement, a springboard to set the emotions flushing, a kick-start to the stories of yesteryear, a lambast for tales of even before the time of time itself
A small back doorway; room enough for two to shelter, from the swift and short spring storms; room enough to stand alone, with wetting eyes, as the garden brush is fired in the dry dirt of summer; room enough to laugh on ones return home, after the birth of the prodigal son; room enough for two to part, over the spilt milk possession of a gas bill; room enough to have held all those times, yet passed them over for a new life
The artist’s stillness is suggestive; he opens you to way more than the entirety of all my wasteful words; he asks of you to enter, to stand in his space, a holding point that is less than a passage, less even than half a passage; he asks you to wait there, perhaps to hear Vaughan Williams’ timeless Larks Ascending waft on the breeze from a distant room
You do wait there; as you endlessly waited for me; as you stood alone, with shaking hands, in that vestibule; your salted tears streaming of self recrimination; you, a worn and sunken soul; you in search of the storm, that would forever fire you into oblivion
From the Collection One Crow to a Tree - Love in Separate Houses available from Lulu
