Things that fall

One subject matter for Renga (cycles of Haiku) is things that fall, such as: rain, snow, leaves, and flower petals.

Strangely, this comforts me.

I am a falling thing of late - first: down onto the slate floor, while running in the house at night in my sleep, naked but for a pair of sliders (?!), and then again 6 weeks later: before bed I decided to hobble down the steep steps alone into the garden to get a good view of October’s shooting stars (the Delta Aurigids) and also The Andromeda Galaxy. In the pitch black I missed the last step, and fell and twisted my foot other foot. Another night like the last: Foot elevated. Packet of frozen peas***. Pain killers. Lying awake until dawn when I could be taken to the local minor injuries hospital, where the x-ray revealed miraculously no broken bones (thank goodness). They all recognised me from 6 weeks ago.

You’ve got to try to accept these things to do with the human condition haven’t you? and respond to them best you can.

I find myself, not only grounded, because there is no way I can drive, but I can’t even get down the steps to my studio on crutches - especially when that other falling stuff - rain - falls and makes the steep slate steps slippery.

I lost access to my studio once before years ago due to a cruel x-lover I chose to avoid, and saw the opportunity then to set up studio outdoors instead. The river and sea became my vast studio, and here I made much of my MA work, from the many zen-like underwater films while snorkelling - to learn water from the inside out, to the delicate paper and ink works with water in collaboration - playing with water’s fluid dynamics and tide and wave and wind. My writings also came to take on water qualities and strategies - and much poetry came out of this time and has since, resulting in publishings, live recitals, live radio airings, recordings, and films. I learnt about water from water itself, and also from ancient philosophies such as the Dao/Tao. This practice evolved to a daily communing with water in some form - often starting the day with a swim in the sea.

Being near water has always felt like home. My whole body and mind un-winds - to the extent of the waters it seems (Does this mean we coil ourselves in on ourselves, tight in an uncomfortable ball during dry land hours?) The frequent sea swimming healed the debilitating migraines that had harrowed me since school. And now, while I can’t drive and get out for my sea swims, I consider the humble shower time to be a kind of water communion. This aquatic practice instantly soothes, unwinds, and brings the awareness onto the physical senses, and as such, is a form of meditation like yoga**. Meditation is simply a practice of listening first onto the senses, then inward, and beyond. This practice is prerequisite for art practice.

With the help of my beau, I set up studio in the pantry next to the kitchen in the house, along with the wild bird food, cleaning stuff, and tins of pulses. I saw this could be my chance to forego the dearly beloved oil paints - along with the anti-social smelly toxic solvents - to focus on acrylics and other water-based pigments and mediums. I order 42 wood panels and when they arrive I begin work. I plan to do a six week pantry residency, or until I can get down to my proper studio in the falling rain.

The series I am working on, consequentially, have the working title: Spill, and I am using spill the action, as my method.

As I paint, I notice mist, smoke and clouds emerging in the spill paintings. I am also writing and reading.

Mary Jacobus says in her book Reading Cy Twombly: Poetry in Paint*: “Things that fall in Renga, are related to and contrasted with things that rise up: mist, smoke, clouds”.

Healing therefore, comes from the fall.

It’s almost as if the Universe, including The Andromeda Galaxy which began to cast this light - itself a falling thing - upon me lying here on the wild strawberries and stinging nettles while my foot swells and bruises, conspired about this healing more than 2.5 million light years ago, illuminating my revelation and the beginning of my salvation.

These things, it seems (depending of course what they are (and this is nothing serious - just a simple and temporary broken bone), if accepted, unfold - or should I say - fall (erhem) into place.

As Thom Yorke of Radiohead sang about escaping a car accident in his song Airbag:

In an interstellar burst
I am back to save the universe

In a deep, deep sleep of the innocent
I am born again

Do you think we can save the universe with art? Maybe. Why not?

The world is made of stone and fire (as are we), but it is also made of the magic of water - predominantly water. And we all - each of us daily in different ways - come up against the hard surfaces of life as human beings (even our own homemade hard surfaces) and it hurts. We are brave creatures to be here. The hard surfaces can be anything from rejection (including imagined rejection), childhood bullying, accidents, illness, etc., but what we mustn’t do is learn to expect them, or orchestrate them, and what we must do is ground ourselves daily however we can, listen deeply, and decide how we’re going to respond (hopefully before the universe forces our hand), and expect to rise up like the mist, smoke, clouds.

There is gold to be found in the rock, and you pan it in the water.

Look for the gold.

*Princeton Press, Oxford, 2016

** After two weeks of the body being in shock after the first avulsion fracture of the fifth metatarsal, I began yoga practice again, but obviously, very gently at first, and it had to be non-weight-bearing. During sleep at night my body would kind of take over and stretch itself, working through my whole body. I couldn’t stop this even if I tried - even when it stretched my broken foot which was excruciating! Now I’m back to yoga it has stopped doing this but it made me realise how essential it is to move the body in some way thoroughly and regularly if you can. I have had to stop teaching yoga class in the The Underground Stream Gallery, but I have discovered that my writing has come back (hello!) and I can work on my paintings daily again whereas before I felt a nagging of demands I was forcing myself into fulfilling. I can now focus fully on my artwork, which is natural to me, so am thinking this is the way forward and maybe …why it happened in the first place. Ouch! - A painful lesson to listen to self. Always listen.

*** Always have a packet of frozen peas in the house. Preferably petis pois.