At every hand’s turn…

Doing some recycling this morning – well, moving some recycling: from the heap in my front yard disguised with a bicycle tarpaulin into the green bin. Struck contentedly by the thought that everything I do reminds me of my writing, and my writing uses everything I do. Does that make sense to you? By way of example, the china in the box in this photograph. Saw it in an Oslo museum and had to take an image of it away with me because it speaks to me in a way that comforts me and keeps me going, of things found, and stored away until their time of use comes round. I wonder might it be accurate to say that all artists need is enough bearings from the world, enough sense that what they’re trying to do is possible and valuable, and that their work process is valid, for them to keep going? I think maybe. And I think you can find them absolutely everywhere. At every hand’s turn in the world…

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