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  • Writer's picturematilde tomat

m·r [13]

So, this is the last day and the last night here.

And my last blogging from this table in the kitchen having a beer, or sitting in the living room, with my feet on that large cushion, or crouched in the landing with my back on the radiator, appreciating every second of silence I found in this place.

After almost 2 weeks I started recognising the voice of this house: that window slightly moving in the wind, the thermostat, the rhythmic soft clanging of something in the kitchen when it rains. This house breathes and expands.

This is a very fortunate house, a large warm hen that keeps us all safe under her wings. A bit like my house in A Thousand Names:

The windows to the bay, white. And this warm gold. It reminded me of some of Beatrix Potter watercolours, with her undertone of okra, enveloping pale warm mustard. I am wondering, in Autumn, how that room will be, with its warm tones and maybe a chair and an unquestionable plant that I would water.

Where is this house meeting me? Is there a half-way I wasn’t aware of? I am comparing this space with others I filled before and where I felt more at home. Volumes I shared physically and emotionally. Places I could hide in and disappear, tiles which saw my crying, beds in which I made love and others in which I just had sex.

Gardens I wanted to be alone in, kitchens I didn’t want to be in, tables I didn’t want to share. Places I wanted to leave. Spaces I wanted to eradicate and move somewhere else, by the sea, where the tides are high, and the waves are rough.

Am I feeling this house already as mine?

At the same time, sweet Nicoletta messaged me today, while attentive Fabio and worried Margherita called me, all from back home, from my original home. I am wondering now where home is: in Lancashire or in Friuli?

So: I have packed, eaten, read more of Tim Ingold's book, watched some TV.

I think I am ready to drive back to Virginia and James, and then back to university. I am ready to close this experience, end these two weeks of residency / artistic retreat. I am proud of myself for how I planned it, organised it, and carried it out. I am proud of what I made, my tests, and my reflections. I am proud I have kept up with the daily drawings and this blog. And especially my regular daily praying / meditation / journaling.

But, as much as I will miss this place and this silence and this house, I am ready to go back.

I am ready.

piece of paper evening #14



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