ROCK
Monday 2 February
Lots of messing around today. Nothing solid.
Yet I am reading Helene Cixous and she speaks of the nether realms, of digging down, to beware laziness and impatience.
I will dig on my allotment, unearth, what will I find?
Can I dig a hole in the churchyard? What might I find?
The footprint of the church, alongside my footprint, alongside your footprint, your hand, your finger. Made from the soil, the mud of the land. Unearthed, soiled, muddied.
Cixous says try to find the primitive picture again. Learn not to be afraid. I am not afraid in this church, alone, locked in. It is light but cold, not all that old. I feel calm but cut off, in solitude, at the same time I want to connect, to reach out, to reach in, to touch, to dig deeper.
I sketch some of the leaves carved on stone and wood.
I film the light. Take some photos.
Get grounded, get steady.
The church provides an empty space, but it could be a hut, an empty school, a garden. I recall earlier residencies in a former school, on my allotment, in an underground gallery. I think of Henry Thoreau – Walden, and Sara Maitland – Book of Silence.
Cixous recommends you go through the back door of thought, risky, near the unconscious.
