Walking the Line, Dancing the Curves

I’ve written before about the performance of exhibitions and events being akin to a shamanic journey. A descent into a place where you’re ripped apart and reassembled later into a different configuration.

To an extent my opinions haven’t changed since the blog I wrote on that subject several years ago, after a particularly traumatic exhibition and presentation in an archaic tower in Hackney.
Since that time I’ve learned to take better physical care of myself during such occasions. I realised that often the people who live the itinerant performing lifestyles are young, and have much greater stamina than I do at 50, even though I can be incredibly driven and adrenaline fuelled.

Luckily I’ve reached a point where I rarely need to sleep on floors or sofas anymore and generally have a rest space where I  can stare at a blank spot and breath rather than constantly maniacally mingling and intensely communicating.

In the last six weeks I’ve been lucky enough to have participated in two wonderful events, one of which I also exhibited at.

I met people, connected with old friends, presented my thoughts and ideas and came away with new ones.

I also lost half a stone, tipped my creative and magical world view in a different direction, fell in love and confronted a few old demons of guilt and shame which I thought were long gone. I noticed that many people of my own age who do this sort of work, like myself live in isolated and often rural areas. 

We write, create, garden and dream, living in a self created space in-between. A place where we are earthed, grounded and supported.

When I’ve been away on a tangential journey at an event or exhibition, I near crawl back to my own rural haven.

I heal and feed, operating at the most basic level of animal self care.

Then I open myself to the inspirations and ideas and places the risks have fed me. I let the insights and changes roll through working with them  to transform them to art and progressions.

That’s what I’m doing today.