I never know what to say or when to say it. Shouldnt I be happy now that I have flowers in a vase in my room and a kitten to play with? It's blowing a gale and a tree came down. There are live wires across the road. The rain is pounding at my window. And I'm worried about choices I made too long ago (things that I thought would make me happy). Sorrow found me when I was young. Sorrow waited, sorrow won. Sorrow that put me on the pills. It's in my honey, in my milk. Dont leave my hyper heart alone on the water, Cover me in rag and bone, sympathy...
Moving house/hemispheres has got me thinking about the way we perceive
space. While in London I always felt subconscious parts of me were
still in Adelaide, roaming the streets I knew so well. Now I feel like
I've left a ghost like part of myself in London. I have reconstructed
the space around me to make my house a home, and will continue to do
this every time I move somewhere new. In a way it's like the same
space but different spaces, multiple layers of what is mine and what
is me interacting with physical space and perceptions there of.
Perhaps, for the central nervous system, space was not a linear structure at all, but a model for an advanced condition of time, a metaphor for eternity which they were wrong to grasp... J G Ballard, Myths of the Near Future
In recent years all aspects of my concerns with space have altered. That's the nature of pictoral space- it's mutable and multiple; an assemblage of moving psychic visualisations. De Kooning said 'the nice thing about space is that it just keeps going'
Going, going, gone.
Terry Winters, Patphysics publishing issue 2005
