Next comes the shiny black box, transposed from another place .
My container for objects, .
Waiting to be understood. .
If you opened its lid you would find, .
Layered on top of each other; .
1 .
A square of rag paper, .
Folded in four, .
Red symbol of a heart painted on its centre, .
The four chambers delineated in silver. .
2
A loose-leaved booklet of scraps bearing scribblings .
about the beating heart, .
The centre of life, .
Its four chambers, .
The heart of stone, .
Burden, .
And in the centre-fold; .
An instruction to; .
Draw a heart . Make a heart .
Cut it in 2 . Embalm each half in material .
3
A tri-folded page of words associated with digging things up and inspecting them closely; .
Skeletal Remains .
archaeological discoveries that lead to part understanding .
perhaps a mis-understanding .
Archaeological discoveries . .
Digging .
Dissection .
4 .
a scrap of an idea in the form of a piece of A4 paper cut .
into 3 equal strips and glued at one end .
holding them together;
.
Digging .
printed in my anxious print writing on the front strip; . .
Burying .
on the next; .
Uncovering .
on the last. .
5
A collection of papers, enfolded in one A4 piece. .
Open at its centre and you will find; .
A piece of Japanese Kodi rag paper folded in 4. .
Each square with a red heart painted in deep crimson. .
One full red heart mirrored by one empty outline, .
The pattern repeated and reversed on the opposite side. .
Behind that, a piece of hand-made rice paper, inset with leaves, .
A4, folded in half, .
On which I painted the heart symbol, .
Divided by the crease, .
Each half individual, .
Like two petals joined at some fulcrum, .
Arching away from each other. .
I'd been thinking about tattoos, .
And symbols.
And that is probably why the next piece of paper is also .
A heart shape, .
Pink really, .
I let the watercolour wash drip .
into a single drop of deep red, .
Which gathers at the base where, .
The two halves meet. .
It seems I got a bit obsessed with hearts .
for a while; .
The sentimentality of the symbol, .
Both distressing and compelling. .
The half a piece of A3 underneath, .
Marks my departure into circles. .
I'm quite impressed by my ability to paint them. .
Here, I've painted two pink circles joining .
At the crease of the paper, .
The pink paint blending perfectly so .
that you can barely see the overlap. .
I couldn't repeat that I don't think, .
Although I might try. .
I like the thinness of the red rim .
as it delineates their bottoms. .
The page cradling that image .
Is scrawled with my writing .
in pencil which reads: .
I've been imagining the heart as 2 parts for a long time. I know it has four chambers physically, but it always feels divided in 2 to me. It's a sad image isn't it. The heart's our central muscle + it can be robust, but it's subject to such alot of onslaught over a life time and it can feel awfully fragile at times.
Love is a well. We can all draw from it at any time, whether you're alone or not. .
( I struck out the word "you're" and wrote "here" over the top which makes no sense. .
Perhaps it is actually "we're", or .
perhaps the no sense is the sense of it. .
I don't like dictating to people. .
Perhaps I should replace it with the word I, .
Inorder that it reads more like a meditation). .
The four folded pieces make a sort of book. .
6
Open underneath lies a scan of a heart that I painted a long time ago before .
I became obsessed with the drawing of their anatomy. .
At this time, .
I was thinking of their structure because, .
I did study anatomy a long time ago, .
Before I studied sculpture. .
This very pale sketch is part of a series, .
Very tentative, .
Half - hearted ( the analogy runs deep and far ) , .
Something I laid out before me in tandem with, .
Making a structure from long twigs, which .
Resembled a cage, which .
I hung in the garden, .
At the top of our large, rambling, .
Lovely garden. .
I have a photograph which relates to it. .
Somehow, one day, the trees' bare branches formed
a blue heart
from the space delineated by
them, touching, tenuously,
In the optical illusion of the camera lens's gaze,
As I captured them branching towards each other,
The ailing Ash and the struggling Sycamore,
As I stood staring from the bottom to the top
of the garden.
The view, captured.
It had resonance and meaning,
Changing over time,
From the initial tacky Valentine,
To the evolving idea of connection,
As I considered more and more,
Roots and messages,
Signs and symbols.
7
I've always had a penchant for the number seven.
The seventh item is a piece of crumpled white tissue paper.
I think I can remember where it came from;
A present.
I could make the memory up.
8
Under the tissue are scattered some disparate objects;
A tin which has the word Fossil written on it.
It's interesting because the lid has a picture of wood grain
printed upon it,
Making no attempt to
pass for wood,
Content to be a facsimile,
Of it's original.
Inside upon the velvet lined shell,
I've placed a fossil,
A perisphinctes ammonite,
From the Late Jurassic epoch,
An extinct Cephalopod,
Claimed by stone.
Replace the lid.
Next to the box,
Another stone with a hole right through it.
Hagstone.
It lies in tandem,
In close proximity to,
Emrys's stone.
Touchstone.
Take the Hagstone,
Look through it,
Put it in my left hand.
Light.
Take the Touchstone,
Feel its heavy weight
in my right palm,
Weigh the two against,
And re - place them,
Tandem.
I'm at the bottom now.
The key and the broken shell necklace, which
Slide around the bottom of the box, beside
The stones are disparate things,
The significance of their presence here forgotten.
I could make it up.
The base of the box is perfectly lined with
A brown A4 envelope and,
I know if I open it,
The crux of all the thinking
That went into this box,
May become apparent.
For the time being,
I resist;
Remantle the box,
Replace its lid.
Put it on the pile.
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