It seems all well and good, but lately I've learnt a lot about myself and the way I do things, that is - I am a stickler for being sensible and making the most rational and thought-out decisions that result in the best possible outcome for myself and my rather sensitive emotional state. I am in control of every single aspect of my career and practice, and the one thing I can't totally wrap my arms around and shake some sense into is causing me much grief and frustration. I can't control how I feel.
This is a good thing. Not only does it reiterate that I am human, but I do need to experience some elements of going with the flow, lest I never experience anything worthwhile or wonderfully heart-wrenching ever again. I don't want to spend my existence wondering "what if?" when I can do something slightly against my better judgement, deal with the consequences afterwards, then learn and move on from the experience. I'm not advocating for taking risks, as all my decisions to "go with the flow" have been made in very controlled circumstances... I guess it's more about not letting your common sense dictate every. single. move. you. make - especially in emotional circumstances. Those are the circumstances in which you are supposed to be so enraptured by feelings of the heart/gut that your head is silenced, and the most passionate, heartfelt exchanges seem to be born there.
It takes a lot for my head to be silenced, so I have to consciously do it. I did it this weekend. And I don't regret it. Even if I did regret it, I'd prefer to regret something than be wishing, hoping and wondering. I've never been able to substantiate that frame of mind before, but I guess it's about me wanting to collect new experiences and learn from them. I wouldn't trade whispered sweet nothings on the black leather couch at a dark, elegant, velvet curtained bar on Gertrude Street for anything, especially not sitting at home alone. Of late I've felt much more open to being in company, to socialising. This is a big change for me. I've realised that people are very important beings to have in your life.
As I sat on the train for the millionth hour on the weekend, I was reminded of Tavi's five-year blog anniversary blog post, where she divulges that she records moments of what she refers to as 'Strange Magic' in her journal:
"I keep a list in the back of one of my journals called "Moments of Strange Magic." It contains events that were either (a) just really, really happy (jumping around to Beyoncé with friends) or (b) aesthetically cohesive and perfect and synesthetic (driving through the desert in a blue convertible to Nancy Sinatra's "Bang Bang" past a bunch of neon-sign motels and trailer parks). Each event is marked with a symbol indicating whether it took place in real life, a movie/TV show/book, or my imagination. Examples of some imagined (b) ones would be: sweaty teens in shiny pastels dancing in unison at a wood-paneled, tinsel-covered community-center room to "Snowqueen of Texas" by the Mamas and the Papas; a view from the side of a guy walking down a school hallway to Frank Ocean's "Forrest Gump," passing lockers painted in the 1970s and a ton of muted, rowdy students; a girl submerging her head into a tub of red hair dye to the chorus of St. Vincent's "Cheerleader."
Where do these episodes come from? A past life? An innate discontentment with everything life already offers, combined with a form of voluntary synesthesia developed from an adolescence of perpetual loneliness manifesting itself in movie marathons and an inconvenient impulse to pay attention to every visual and auditory detail of every situation as an escape from the social interaction at hand?"
I remember reading the entirety of this truly exceptional piece of writing (read it already!) and realising that my own moments of strange magic were the impetus for every artwork I've ever made, equal parts reality and projected cinematic fantasy - composites of everything I've ever experienced and everything I've ever imagined.
Back to me being on the train this weekend, where I found myself hurriedly typing sweet words recently exchanged and pennants of wisdom that for some reason stood tall from others over the years, in the notes section my phone - lest I lose them - and yet it seemed so frustratingly futile. The strange magic was diluted, it seemed like a hypnagogic dream. The more I tried to replay these now mere memories accurately in my head, the more they slipped through my cupped hands like sand. I realised strange magic can't be held, which I guess is why I make artwork - to try to grasp and bottle even a single grain of the slippery strange magic. Of course, the very action of bottling that grain erases the very traits that make it special. I feel like a lot of things in life share the same frustratingly elusive characteristics.
Last night I caught up with my friend Georgia, and we headed to an exhibition opening at Daine Singer. We then went to what is fast becoming our regular haunt - Hell's Kitchen, and had a couple of drinks. It was really nice. We headed home rather early and I walked home bathed under the eerily bright light of the super moon. I was so enraptured with the sight that I was walking without looking where I was going and, yes, I tripped over. Luckily it was dark and where I live is totally deserted as soon as dinner is on the table, so no-one saw, but it certainly made the situation immediately less cinematic...
|Things I bought at Savers today including the fabric underneath which is amazing!|
|Drowning in collage pieces on my bed argh|
|Dress at Savers|
|Stained daisy dress at Savers|
|I wished this book had more pictures of eyes in it|