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.
No comments:
Post a Comment