Untitled (Acrylic)

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Day 87.

Currently rereading Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn. I read it once before over a year ago and see that I have underlined more passages than I have done in any school text.

The passages that struck me then as particularly resonant are today even more so. I’m grateful to have made indications to such passages as I know they are they’re readily accessible to me whenever the need for sustenance arises.

On the pursuit of gaining an understanding of himself he says

I couldn’t afford to leave things hanging in suspense that way- the mystery was too intriguing. Even if I had to rub myself like a cat against every human being I encountered, I was going to get to the bottom of it. Rub long enough and hard enough and the spark will come

The painting is a new work in acrylic.

The Fall (Mixed media)

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Day 84.

A spontaneous drawing part playful doodle, part existential cris de couer. Falling is a deeply psychological fear I have. Palpable before conscious awareness. It comes from some primal place.

When thinking of falling I sense my brain is housed beneath my chest. That is where the knowledge and the reactions happen.

I see curtains blowing in a window many floors up in a high rise apartment building and I become transfixed by the almost hypnotic sensation of paralysing dread that it evokes in me.

In this fear of mine I see how closely tied the psychological is with the physical. The mind can perceive and analyse the connection but it is somehow apart from the phenomenon.

The Crypt. (Oil pastel)

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Day 81.

Within the crypt laying undisturbed for centuries is an unknown force of immeasurable magnitude

Sealed off from the outer world to avoid contamination, it undergoes a mysterious process

no trace of it exists,  at surface level all is discreet

Unknowingly waiting in dutiful living the world churns

a hollow is hollowed from beneath

quietly imperceptibly new formations and permutations evolve, dissolve in unobserved fractal dancing

to a droning hum of distant industry accompanied

We wait.

The Egg. (Oil pastel)

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Day 78.

Trying to become that thing.

To hatch, to emerge from the egg.

The egg I’ve been in for so long I feared I had become the egg.

Now can I see it for a shell.

A shell I must beat my way out of.

And so I thrust back my head and trust the force of my knowing beak to unleash me.