Constraint (Soft pastel)

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Day 91.

Gregor Samsa like I click and scuttle

My north paws rubbing together in waiting

I’ll cling to the ceiling yet

That I’m certain would more normal seem than any experience I’ve had so far

hollow -hearted whole

leave well alone,

Take me I am ready.

Desk Job (Coloured pencil)

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Day 85

This is another of my work drawings. Over the years I have made several which I stored away as carefully as my more complete art works. To me they are evidence of a parallel me and also stand as stepping stones to the person I was becoming.

The nascent artist in me nudging away throwing out these fragmentary images. It provides a clue to to all the years of restless dissatisfaction that belonging to a desk invoked. Sending coded subconscious messages to myself.

It was a rebellion of sorts too. Acting out with line and colour if only to myself.

A sneering quest for meaning. I can see a spiky display of humour in their brevity.

Frivolous but important scraps documenting that life for me lay elsewhere.

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.

Postcard to myself (Pencil)

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Day 82.

Sketches of Spain.

Postcards that got written only to languish on the fridge door

Awaiting what, divine intervention?

Full of best intentions until the steam runs out.

You’re missed!

You’re thought of!

Pangs of distance muted in the echo chamber message side.

More fodder for the procrastinators volumes.

Wish you were here, you get the drift

Probably not or subconscious telepathy I underestimate.

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.