As human beings, we have a natural compulsion to fill empty spaces.
I have proven on an occasion that I am not the most interesting person. At least, not while being flushed with alcohol. I make lists. Lots of lists. I have notebooks, filled with lists. I view it as an art piece in progress, the actual making of the list, documenting and presentation of the final collection. Mind, there is no finality in list making. To reach for real sympathy, I will admit to reading back over my notebooks while sitting in bed with a cup of tea. It’s a safer environment as a night out usually leads to starting the following day with deleting messages sent the night before, grasping to the idea this will somehow, unsend them. Being daft after a few glasses is something I excel at. I’m the fun one out. That’s why list making is good…it tends to align and keep focus on my wandering mind.
My favourite notebooks are Paperblanks. It was the good nature of an ex boyfriend who bought my first piece. A little book bound in Arabian Mosaic Tiling artwork. Each book is part of a collection, depicting art from all over the world and from various eras. There is also a little pocket in the back where one can keep cinema tickets, phone numbers scribbled on used cinema tickets, photos of those scribbling their numbers, thus, leading to the idea one can recreate a perfect image of time. Once I finish my listing and the book is full, I have forgotten what it was I was trying to hold onto and a new book is bought. So the cycle begins.