This week I made mud pies. I was 10 again, at the end of the garden near the bonfire site, mixing and stirring in buckets and old cake tins. This time it was for grown up reasons of course. The colours are strong, belong to each place. A variety. Each its own.
I spend the morning planning for the Readings on Silence and Art and Nature. I read through the extracts I have marked. Try to find a flow, links. There are links with my mud drawing. Stone, rocks, the soil beneath our feet is silent.
I pore over the texts trying to find a rhythm, understanding. I find a confusion of different kinds of silence; of many ways of thinking about and looking at silence. Still I begin to find a way. Short pieces to start as we settle down. Longer pieces when we are concentrating, focussed.
Questions to ponder: silence to empty oneself, let go of ego; silence to stop outside pressures, to strengthen one’s voice.
Lauris comes and I talk through my plans for presenting the ideas and the work I have made so far during this two months.