Saturday, 18 May 2024

Creative Soul


First Pot thrown in a 10 months
12-05-2024
I am an artist, a silicate practitioner, a true clay-clad mud bandit. These are the titles I bestow to myself for the mechanisms that constantly tick from within. I know that the eternal act of creating is the energising structure that fuels me. I find in each of my expressions is a joyous celebration that provides sustenance to the flame within. This is the structure of my life, a structure that supports me like beams folded with the fires of my imagination. A cherished structure never to be torn down only to be reinforced.

I dance here in front of my castle courtyard surrounded by blossoms clinging to the edifices of my soul. I raise my bouquets of revelations to an overflowing sun. Today remains only so bright as for the vibrancy emitted from my burning heart, the heart of who I am, the heart of a practicing artist.

It’s easy to be untrue to ourselves so as to pour water on the flames in our bellies. It’s easy to forget even the most defining of our inner psychic elements. But it’s even easier to pick it up again. To slip under the warm sheets of a dedicated practice and embrace the cozy inner sanctums we craft for ourselves, this is what we always need to return to. I'm here to lick my tongue to the pavement of the earth and spit out the dust in Pollock splatter paintings. I’m here to turn the splinters under my fingernails into ornamental shrines that burn with the smell of frankincense. I'm here to observe and generate, to absorb and reflect, to digest and expel, to feel the world and then affect upon it.


I’m here to create, whether vile or incredible I’m simply here to create.
 
diary entry - 12/05/2024
Inspired by 4 of Wands- Rider Deck 


Tuesday, 7 May 2024

Forest Black

Naples , November 2023


“Lifes a whole trip isn't it”. 

That's what Forest said to me as we relaxed into our Naples hostel surroundings. The aged leather sofas would have seen so many conversations over the decades, many of the conversations flowing through the same route, what's your name? What's your hometown and how long is your trip for? Forest answered the first question easy enough, yet the 2nd and 3rd drew him in to reflect, these questions almost felt as though I was probing deep within. He explained that he was originally from Phoenix, Arizona, but I could tell by the way he gritted each time that an American asked “So which state are you from!” he had left Arizona to see the world but also to escape. And while I couldn’t understand why there was pain in that place, I could sense it nonetheless. 


Forest had found himself on the open paths of life for most of his life, he told me how much he enjoyed the isolation of an Alaskan town populated by only five people, he told me how cold yet quiet the winters could be. He had spent his covid years hiking and road tripping in New Zealand and now found himself driving a motorcycle between Spain and Italy.


You could tell that he enjoyed the quiet he could draw from within himself. And yet here we found ourselves on the 6th floor of a social hostel in a city whose scooter chaos felt closer to Jakarta and Ho Chi Minh. Luckily for us (particularly for him), the cacophony from the streets below made itself into a white noise by the time it reached the couched area. Forest hated Naples, he didn’t need to say it, the language of someone whose discomfort could be seen in the way his body became rigid and locked up when he described the city. He was only staying in a hostel and talking to me because he had no where to camp on his way to the Amalfi coast. 


I myself loved Naples, its an atmosphere that flows with good food and chaos in a warm embrace. A warm embrace that I personally feel happy to slip under, but I can imagine for Forest, a man looking to eventually move and live off the grid at peace with nature, how Naples could bite at his senses. He expressed how society is eating the planet and itself alive, as I looked over the smog covered gulf of Naples it was hard to not agree. He told me how he wished for a farm and a family, in which he could carve out his existence in the same way he could carve out his plot of land. 


He had done a lot of impressive things for someone who was only 24. He really was someone you knew could find peace in solitude. And while there were things you could see that his brain struggled as he had to adjust to, the buzz of a big city, the social aspect of a small hostel, there were many aspects of Forest that I admired. You could see that he was tough and respected his inner strength in a way that few can tap into. His self-pride was not shown through the boasts but through a soft smile that would creep in while he explained his travels. You could see that he saw developing his own psyche as a constant challenge to sign up for. 


Forest was a unique character, one whose passing presence illustrated the potential one can achieve if they work towards a challenged existence. Motorcycling around Europe wasn’t easy but you got the sense that that was the point for Forest. Whether it was having to pitch his tent as the rains of Campania punished him or having to deal with Alaskan Moose eating his crops as he read his books, I'm sure it was the challenges that made him fulfilled. You knew Forest was different, for a question I’d ask hundreds of times in hostels, he was the only one to answer it differently. 


“When will your trip end?” I said as we first met. 

“Lifes a whole trip isn't it… It never really stops, does it” he responded as a soft smile returned to his face. 



Eyes on the back

To feel the eyes on the back of our heads To feel the presence of how others imagine us To not stay in sight of a present moment But to rift...