Cultural Enterprise

am in a fog,

autumn mist

of tired and happiness,

the red dress.

the sister found

her portrait hung

**

now we need the brother

to make the set complete

**

profile pictures

selected

we hung together

studio, aberystwyth

inspired room,

dedicated artist, not me , ruth.

we dragged fireplaces,

clippy clipped clips,

hammered, laughed,

and stories.

 

**

nail hunting,

got us soaked in a storm,

running for cover,

attic room,

found playing cards,

her space, poetry

**

tired, late, home

pizza at the computer,

head gone,

comfort call.

*(notes)

drawings bled

stories said

to curator.

 

so much

bleed

time to tell

 

happy daze

tired haze

today

 

* (notes 2 )

new plans for the angels

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will i regret this

putting myself on show?

with luck

no one will get it anyway

and i will be safe

**

we show our profile pictures

staring out

saying some thing of ourselves

in codes and reasons

**

even the abstracts

sold yesterday,

a pair of course,

are painted

with hiding

and creepng,

beautiful blue

**

 here so so early,

dark and warm,

early grey, and earl grey

the singing come .

**

writing at the desk a while

before the second day,

the domestics,

and repartee.

the third day, hanging,

hanging who, me?

 

*(notes)

cleaned the car.

glasses, chewing gum, fishing book, cap badge, nail clippers, and on and on..........

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my desk looks tidy in the dark

another bulb popped

it looks streamlined 

but some thing must be done

the keyboard invisible

**

looking at the old bulb

a pretty thing of glass

 filament

and chrome

**

now i can see

to do the words

here again today

**

visited frances power cobbe

in the rain to finger the words

worn away, and leave harebells.

laying with mary the wrong way

facing west, the ocean, ireland?

**

the gardener came

 his strimmer, his humour

 wool hat, curls escaping,

had a fag, and cut my grass

**

good day, summer left

swallows gathering lingering

thoughts wandering and jingling

around

**

preparing work for  :: studio  ::

look at myself

drawn some time ago

and wonder  the changes

of ages, and years.

a solo show.

**

today, writing,

wrapping and fitting

for the exhibition

"profile pictures"

*( notes)

I cannot shout

i cannot scream

i can sit still

in the old house

* but where is the cat

oh there

by the toaster!

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the edge of reason, in the edge of sleep. almost amnesia.

lay gentle, slow remembrance of reality,

low noises from the window,

slowly starting hum

of traffic

of tractors here

**

the air moves

on my face

**

down into the house,

clean sheets airing

ready for next week,

kettle whistling for tea.

 

open door, pink sky one side,

dark the other, slow music

deliberate, to break the edge.

 

**

yesterday, back to childhood

with work, a difficult place,

at times.

work only seen in London

coming out.

work already archived

coming out

**

my windows small

no one can see in,

but i can see out,

and all that happens,

the glass canvas*

**

the grass is cut

in the lower yard,

so, i think,

the grave diggers

will come.

**

high soft voices sing

above my head,

sleep leaving, bringing

the day

bringing reality,

and bringing the gardiner,

oh joy.

*(notes)

is this a dress to wear under the red coat?

Red coat  I could wear a bathing suit under

ready for the pool

ready to be warm

after.

 

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This is the colour of home,

colour of autumn,

of the Ruralists,

of quiet.

no sound from the wind

lifting my hair.

**

the day was extra ordinary yesterday,

of places, people, cathedral and a red coat.

really, it was the same as any day,

but headlost i watched and listened

and saw the things magnified

in glass . starlight quality.

Galleries, north, the mission,

on the bus, four buses.

even now ladies

talk of the war, hair like cobwebs

pinned with grips,

 

**

the cathedral cave, all a twitter

with carvings, lilies, and holiness,

gaping at it all, i fell over my feet,

and faint from the cloy,

moved on

**

tiredness set in with a shower of rain

and laden with paintings,

sat with the others watching the world

**

home, the post,

jamming the door,

with pay from Galleries,

paintings sold.

**

my evening a revery of the red coat

and the night watch.

(Now here there could have been a red coat drawing,

but it has not been done yet)

so

*(notes)

i should stand still a while

but work is waiting.

i shall plan a still time,

for my diary, today

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the red coat

was hiding

under layers,

but i saw it.

red it is, worn, shabby

a friend you say.

 lining cream silk crumple.

the label

harris tweed,

heather washed,

as old.

the back a thin satin sash

to tie.

oh lovely coat

i love you.

**

away for coffee

italian,

a biscuit.

**

back to the red coat,

tried it, and  looked daft in it,

and imagined how it would be

**

hungry i would wear it,

run on the moor, windy,

a cotton dress beneath,

grubby knees,

old boots, and wrap it round me.

night garden, pyjamas,

and the red coat looking

at the moon

**

slight smell of camphor,

and lavender,

un threading,

pockets with notes,

and hankies

and all well, all well.

**

men will sing with three voices,

and dance in their suits,

and i will be headlost, and dizzy.

leaving the coat

to bathe in pools

of light, under green,

dripping back into

the coat , red coat.

**

they say i said too much about the coat last night,

and did I look daft, and i will never buy it

£500,

but it is already mine,

headed forever, calling it to at will

 

**

red coat.

i will say more, and more, red coat.

**

I love you red coat.

 

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hello.

having spent yesterday writing,

about Frances Power Cobbe,

MOMA Wales,

and Theater Harlech,

I come here all written out,

i think. lets see.

the painter

**

the morning stands cool

inviting me out to place

feet cold on  slate,

new dawn perfume,

and small birds singing.

 

**

thoughts of doing nothing,

a pleasure, but not  a while.

long journey today,

to galleries,

to the north,

free ride,

reliving the land

**

the first morning, domestic,

clean washing hung,

distant dogs, dewy plums,

and damson drift.

making bed, and tidying,

straightening the old house.

'it is broken'

'no, it is just very old'

**

second morning

the letter, the award.

' an award for your work?'

' honestly, no'

but will fill it in anyway

**

and so we go each day

dreamy, headlost

and free. yes free.

thank you! clap clap.

 

**

**

slate fence, trawsfynydd.

thin ones, corris,

fat ones, blaenau ffestiniog

purple ones, bangor

and there is one in london!

 

http://www.museumwales.ac.uk/en/rhagor/article/1914/

 

 

 

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did you hear the geese this morning,

over the old house,

did you hear the new scent

here in the old house,

did you hear the whispering,

those of you that listen here?

**

can you see the crispy thin moon,

above the oak, can you see

the brittleness of it all?

 

**

*adding words, to make a pattern,

adding dots in line,

adding nothing

making something

**

studio artspace visit

white on white, the next venue,

with singing fridges,

labelled cupboards, teacups,

and wallpaper.

challenge then, to create an installation

by wednesday next ( laugh?)

**

aberystwyth boat had sailed, too late to wave,

just a text then and watch the gulls on blue,

sun on the station, and phd company

for the  journey through the villages

a free ride

**

today we start afresh

and chilly, the sun to warm,

at the gallery, body working,

mind a plotting and planning

*(notes)

" truth did not come into the world naked, but it came in types and images. one will not receive the truth in any other way."

* the singing stopped, she opened the freezer door and there, there it was, a little frozen landscape of japan

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codes and reasons,

can be read upside in,

or inside up,

whatever is written,

is bled.

**

harlech exhibition for helfa gelf,

all hung yesterday, in harmony,

a family of art

concerned on the future

SAVE THEATRE HARLECH.

**

curators from Gallery 43

select power houses

for Cleobury Mortimer

wales in shropshire now.

**

the evening saw

a small gathering of art and poetry

we three.

and one came laughing from

the harvest houses

done the best days work, he.

**

late evening writing writing

pasting sending.

**

today, another day of

codes and reasons

 

*(notes)

'the rain of one afternoon' bala exhibition extended ..........................

* translations free to family and friends

* this blog is bilingual ( deleted)

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the golden month, the autumn

swallows flying near and low

tartan dressing gown on,

windows fuzzed, and chilly feet.

no slippers in this house.

**

yesterday, full on working,

writing, wrapping work,

preparing for studio visits,

new gallery owners,

new customers.

**

a day of unreasonable thoughts,

perhaps they will stay this time,

perhaps he will come back,

perhaps people will understand,

perhaps not.

**

today then?

hanging exhibition with friends,

selecting work for Ludlow,

with friends,

talking, with friends.

 

*(notes) level headed i was until the call came.

instant rattling, usual muddling. I am silenced.

but we need to tell....

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