September 6, 2015
I’ve been dreaming poetic dreams of mycelium which is really thought connecting to thought through boundaries which are really just illusions. I’ve been coiled and waiting like a pike in the hot weedy shallows, ready to spring at my duckling dinner. Racing like a strong salmon through the lines and hooks that dangle my possible death, crawling like a crayfish over the rocks at lake’s edge, pulling shadow over my body against the diving gulls….
I’ve been floating like an embryo, building my body like the miracle it is.
number nine creek, taken at a family hike in spring 2011
Like fluid, this part of my #Water (working title) project has been, as I immerse myself in possibility. What can be made of these paintings, installed in a room, with sound? How can I build a visceral sense of connection and inclusion out of sound, light, and image? How can I describe an ecosystem – more than describe – evoke?
Re-re write my artist bio, tighten up my CV and struggle through the mud of my artist statement. I fill out forms and check my grammar, punctuation, spelling. I identify key points in my artistic approach and practise and do my best to describe to people I may never meet why my work is valuable. I choose paintings from previous shows that I hope will illustrate … my merit. I work out a budget that makes some kind of sense, re-write it without the extras, then pare it down a little more…
I notice a feeling of dehydration.
Grant-writing uses an entirely different part of one’s brain than the bits trained in painting and music.
