A few days ago I felt a first surge of real enthusiasm since the advent of 2016. It came about when I was editing a story which I thought was finished, discovered it wasn’t and started a rewrite.
In my last blog I wrote that I’d just published a web site to showcase my artwork.
Then I began a site for my writings – Ann Isik:Writes. I’ve called one of the pages Flashes. Little stories. I’ve lots of little stories. Many have appeared on my blog. Yet, despite an apparency, they aren’t stories, rather, seeds awaiting germination.
It came to me to work on each of these flashes in turn, bring out their stories. I took the first one, which I’d called Light, and edited it to my satisfaction. I posted it on Ann Isik:Writes and started straight off on the editing of a second story.
Next day I re-read Light – which I’d renamed The Sound of Light. Can you hear the sound of paper being crumpled into a ball? The story was worse than awful. I started a re-write. And its story began to push itself up through the earth, towards the light.
This process – it has an image. It keeps presenting itself for inspection. The coffee filters I used as eco print experiments. The ones I used in my entry for the 2015 Arthouse Coop Sketchbook Project. I folded them in on themselves. They look like butterflies, or moths. Opened up, they reveal another, interior, reality.
More, there’s a vertical at the centre of this construct. In the book, it’s a line of sewing – it’s how I bound the book together – with a single vertical line of machine sewing. I’ve been seeing this vertical all over the place, as in the first image here.
And what it is, is the still point at the heart of all things. Interpret that in your own way. Look out for more verticals. There’s a vertical in my story. It’s not finished, but here’s the first bit:
The Sound of Light
The scream of invective rent the pianissimo dawn. Did I really just write that ridiculous sentence? Clearly, I had a long way to go as a writer of lyrics. Still, it was dawn and I was in an empty theatre – or so I had thought – and up here, among the lights and cables, the atmosphere was as soft as a womb.
This was my first job out of college, my first day. To get the job (Extremely Junior Assistant Lighting Technician) I’d added five years to my age and invented previous work experience (in a prestigious West End theatre – think Shakespeare). I’d blackmailed my best friend (with whom I share the tenancy of what could only loosely be termed accommodation) into putting his name – well, a name – to a glowing recommendation.
What did I have that was blackmailable over my friend? Sexual infidelity, of course. That’s blackmailable, these days? If it involves sexual infidelity with your boyfriend’s mother, yes. Not that I’d ever expose him (if you’ll pardon the expression) and he knew it. So, basically, he acceded to my request because he loved me, even if he was very confused in the gender department.
So here I was, my womb-like pianississimo dawn rent like the veil of the temple – though to be accurate, the veil was torn and it was the rocks which were rent. And I was balanced on a set of very tall steps getting taller by the second, while someone was wailing like the proverbial banshee underneath me (for non-sexual reasons, unfortunately).
To be continued …
What do you think?
Aside from the above, I’ve painted the skirting boards and some door frames in my studio, the first coat, anyway. I’ll do the second tomorrow.
And finished reading a book about an extraordinary woman: Hannah Hauxwell.
Posted to a friend a birthday card and present.
Time for a cup of tea. And bed. Where I will start reading the next book in my list.
Yesterday I made some encaustic medium and dreamt of a ginger kitten. More on all that in my next blog.