freelanca artist photographer writer
I don't know how to talk about art. I am not sure I can say what I see yet but maybe I can say how what I see makes me feel.
I have come to believe lately that all we have is our loss and our loneliness and that the best we can hope for in this world is to really feel our losses and share in our lonelinesses - after all, it's what we have in common.
I do think that with this exhibition, you have lost and shared your loneliness beautifully and deeply and I truly respect the courage and the lightness that must have took. I imagine it's powerful to sit in your chair.
But, more than that - your exhibition really represents, to me, the moment after one loss and before the next loss. I hadn't realised such a moment exists.
I can see that you haven't created this, you've revealed this. This place has been here forever. This fragility is so durable. This fragility lasts us.
I don't go to look at art often so I don't know whether this is common - your exhibition has become a place in my mind. Throughout the course of therapy, we drew a map. It revealed places in my mind I hadn't realised existed either - the swamp, the old library, the dark parliament, bluespace and, finally, the spirit land. And, now, the cathedral conservatory. I will come back here.
One more observation - looking is hard enough; looking at art is even more demanding; looking at art in the presence of other eyes feels so exposing. When I saw your piece on Thursday, I could have grieved my eyes out but I couldn't because you might have watched - that self-consciousness is something to work through.
Thank you for inviting me to come and look,
a.a.'s thoughts : may 2019 : reproduced with permission.