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Artwork, 2017, December 2017 Fleur Wickes Artwork, 2017, December 2017 Fleur Wickes

Counterpoint

it's beautiful here
in this small room
in this small town
in this small country
at the edge
of the world

 

 

It's beautiful here at the edge, on the workroom wall, 14 December 2017

It's beautiful here at the edge, on the workroom wall, 14 December 2017

I've had a tough week, one way or another.  Today, in counterpoint, I got a big print made of this, hung it on my workroom wall. 

The words were written during a happier time.  It makes me feel good to remember happier times.

“it’s beautiful here
in this small room
in this small town
in this small country
at the edge
of the world”

FInding brightness on dark days is so good for my spirit.

 

[BTW & FYI: Studio prints of this artwork will be available at the Space Xmas Night Market on Saturday.  If you're in Whanganui, rock on up.  If you're not gonna be in my hood, hit me up and I'll sell you one URL, and send it to you wherever you are. ]

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December 2017 Fleur Wickes December 2017 Fleur Wickes

This is what I hold on to

Standing at the kitchen bench yesterday I was thinking of my mother gone,  shoving corn chips in my mouth not because I was hungry but because I felt lost without her, and wanted to ease the ache of it.  I looked across to the window, maybe a noise outside made me turn.  I noticed the curtain moving in the warm afternoon breeze.  

I paid attention.  I made this photograph.  I find it beautiful.

Kitchen window curtain in the breeze, 3 December 2017

Standing at the kitchen bench yesterday I was thinking of my mother gone,  shoving corn chips in my mouth not because I was hungry but because I felt lost without her, and wanted to ease the ache of it.  I looked across to the window, maybe a noise outside made me turn.  I noticed the curtain moving in the warm afternoon breeze.  

I paid attention.  I made this photograph.  I find it beautiful.

Taking note of these small quiet things that make up my life is like an anchor for me; a way home to my self when I'm feeling untethered.

The tiny holes in the selvage, the rythmic gentle texture of the fabric itself. The warm black of the shadows. The heavier more solid other curtain in the background not made for moving in the wind, but instead made for warmth and keeping out the dark.  

We are told to live life large, to reach for success and the faraway stars.  I have tried that and found it a painful anxious way to live.  It seems to work for others, but for me I can't find purchase in that upwardly mobile life, and instead spent my days in a state of constant wearying grasping,

failing,

falling.

These days I've found a different way to live.  I'm not reaching for much.  Instead I've found something solid to hold on to:  the quiet beauty of a small domestic life. 

It unfolds right here in front of me. Every. Single. Day.  Without me even trying.

All I have to do is to stand still enough to notice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Word/

feeling/

entry/

drawing.

Every day,

2025.