Looking back at yourself
Memories, Seeing differently and change
My eyes are straining.
Squinting my way
to a permanent migraine
Like I’m 5 years old
and the crowd around me
is a shoal of legs and shoes.
But.
I’m looking.
With all my heart
in the hope
that one day
I see things clearly.
Unfortunately.
There’s a fog.
The vapour trail behind me
now floating in front.
Where are they?
What are they doing?
The thoughts,
the rehashed memories.
They made sense once before.
But now they obscure everything I want.
I’ve been binge-watching them.
On repeat from the safety of my precarious position.
And even though
I know,
deep down,
that I don’t want
to see it anymore,
I still watch.
Maybe it’s reassuring
to know how it could go wrong.
A voyeur of my own made up suffering.
Smug
that I knew it would happen,
and I was right all along.
At the core,
my therapist would say
”It’s all about trust”.
Another trauma response
to something that I can’t quite solve
“Exactly!”
I’d bellow in agreement.
I understand the problem;
nevertheless
remain at its mercy.
My mind is blocked
and when I try to look through the expected failure
All I see is something else…
and when I look away?
I realise.
I’m distracted.
Which is probably
Why I’m still scared of bees.
You see,
I still remember
the noise of one
trying to steal my ice cream as a child,
it was all shortly before we became intertwined,
biologically connected by its stinger,
and all I could hear
was the sound of its wings
achieving resonance with my cochlear
as they beat against the inner tunnel of my ear
and,
as it proceeded to sting me,
I realised two things,
Firstly, that my the ice cream was now as attached to the ground
as the bee was to my ear
and secondly, that my fingers and tears were not helpful
in the removal of the bee
or the resuscitation of the ice cream
and now, the noise reminds me of the US bomber
that flew above my house during the war.
But it isn’t that.
I can blame it on that.
That then,
was a less than happy time,
I agree.
But I am no more that person.
And they are certainly not the same as them.
So why would I think this is going to be the same?
And it becomes clear.
It’s not them I’m watching.
It’s me.
But I am not the same me.
So why would I think this is going to be the same?
Maybe I don’t believe I’ve changed.
Or maybe I like being this way.
Else,
wouldn’t I change?
Wouldn’t I imagine it working out this time?
And everything
may look
exactly the same
from here
and from
where you’re sitting.
But if I’ve changed,
and I want it to go well,
then maybe the only thing
making it go wrong
is me,
sitting here
thinking
about all the reasons
it could go wrong
the same way
I’ve seen it go wrong
before.
So why would I think this is going to be the same?
If the only thing
That’s the same
is how much
I believe
I’m the same me
of yesterday.
Japan
I’ve been out here for close to a week,
and although on the surface
it is a country that seems perfect
for a study on awareness,
I feel disconnected from myself.
I saw it coming before I left.
Over the last eighteen months,
I have become attached to the studio.
To the work.
To the feeling of production.
It is natural.
After all, I am a Londoner.
And part of being in London
is the expectation that you work.
That you produce.
That you contribute.
That you sell.
And as much as I like to believe
that being an artist
places you in some sacred position
where rent is not due
and food arrives as effortlessly as inspiration,
we are far enough away from that world
That imagining it does not help.
So the natural solution
is to love the work.
When I arrived back in London last year,
I pushed the economics of the role to the side.
I could create freely.
Honestly.
But over time
the stress crept in
and I began to believe
that even though true art
never requires you
to colour within the lines,
for rent to be paid
it should at least acknowledge them.
And as I drank the kool aid
and began to pay homage
to the line providers around me,
I started thinking that this was what I was:
someone who understands the lines
and someone who respects them.
The work suffered.
The lines became stronger.
But rent was paid.
Now I am away from the work,
and I am unable to even see the lines.
I am beginning to worry
that the part of me
that could colour near the lines
is slipping away again.
And maybe this time
it is for good.
Productive
The first thing I noticed on this visit
was how clean everything was.
Orderly.
Correct.
Greater Tokyo is home to forty-one million people,
and even at its centre,
you can hear yourself think.
The city is focussed.
It is working.
And to not be working
in the same familiar way
the London studio has taught me
over the last year
is unsettling.
Because right now,
my ‘job’ is looking,
seeing,
understanding.
Investments in myself
and my work,
that remain intangible,
until I bring them to reality.
They are risks and adventures
with a limited known value
in a city
where nobody walks on red.
Illogical actions
that the old me
might be too scared to take.
Because.
Even though I am growing,
and even though the direction feels right,
There is still the fear
that I will not work out
how to make the choice worth it.
But here,
It is clear.
That even though everyone
seems to be colouring in the lines
They also love,
when someone doesn’t.
It’s just a little more subtle.
Ahead
I’m here for a few more weeks,
and I’m starting to understand what I need to do for the paintings.
I got a little stuck with my process.
I’ve stretched it out enough to know what’s missing.
Hope you’re enjoying where this project is going
I feel like it’s really starting to come together
and feed into the other work I’m doing.
If you want to see what else I’m working on,
Check out the video at the end.
Nothing but love,
- R
x
Poets corner
I
Awakening winter
Buckets
of balloons
of water
More water
than balloon,
more balloon
than bucket
Thrown at flesh
Thrashed against the wall
- Thomas MayFinal Words
Happy Monday
Next week, we’ll continue our deep dive into Awareness
Apologies for the late email this week,
I’m still getting the hang of the Time difference
Next week I’ll be back, ready for Sunday evening,
hopefully…
love you loads,
- R
x