I would dearly like to show you foundlings 4 and 5, esp. as they conclude the series (the other day I crocheted a tiny armpit even before brushing my teeth!) but I haven’t photographed them yet and most of this week’s energies are going towards and into tomorrow’s visit to Tate Modern, my first art-outing this year which I’ve been organising for a while: booking of electro-scooter, taxi; laying out of clothes for the day (and day after, just in case I can get dressed); putting in place of meals for day before, day itself, days after; checking that I’ve done everything that really needs doing before I re-surface from the post-outing slump which will take as long as it takes; trying not to obsess about e-mails I haven’t answered, calls I haven’t made, posts I haven’t read, and and and; thinking about where I’d like to whizz once I’m there (I want to spend time with Marisa Merz’s work, which I only know from books, and Kara Walker’s, whose paper-cut silhouettes impressed me years ago, and let’s see what excites me on the way); hoping I’ll make it to the members’ room for a rest on a sofa with view of the Thames and some chocolate-cake, and that I’ll find the right cut-off point and get home before things get too bad.
I can’t book my return cab as I don’t know how long my energies will last. Hope they won’t trickle out too fast, need to be able to go as soon as… I’ll enter the Tate with a big grin and heart beating wildly and will end up feebly holding on to the edges of the boat my smile makes while it sinks as fatigue rains down in leaden pellets. All being well I’ll find myself nurtured/stimulated/energized on all kinds of levels in spite of and beyond and after all.
