working… it out

heartbreak hotel small

I have spent today, yesterday, the day before, the day before and all other days before with the artists, curators researchers and everyday people who have arrived in my life, and in my mind to talk their stories. These days have been memories of a lifetime of conversations… passing remnants of realities, interwoven and seductively entrancing forms of evolution.

It feels good to be able to act in in some ways as the whenua; to be the land that listens as the seas coax my skin, to be the land that feels the sky surrender its tears of joy as they fall upon my eternal soul.

I suppose I have been pretty independent lately, which is good. I really want to make the most of the opportunity I have been given to explore creative practice, and to commit to inhabiting my skin.

As the days merge, and emerge anew, I write pages and pages of alphabetised lingua, I let them languish and laugh communicades of consciousness; writing to the versions of others that really, must be the aspects of myself that inhabit the forms of those within my sometimes lonely sphere. I am always here.

I am starting to realise how much I love to write. My fingers talk so much these days, and in some ways I do not miss the sound of my voice because my body has started to harmonise my ethereal self, and so instead, I feel more myself than I ever have before.

I tend to write stream of consciousness, my words just ebb and flow forth from the frayed ends of my armature. I had no formal education in creative writing apart from what I really didn’t learn at high school. Even at University, nobody ever really taught me how to write. It’s just something I imbibed from books; osmosis of oratory posed and proclaimed on parchment. I suppose when I write, I simply commit to whatever words are in my head.

When I was young I had a speech impediment. I learnt to sound things out in my head before I spoke so that I wouldn’t stutter. I tend to think that this has helped me a lot. I find that I am able to communicate better in writing than through verbal means. Lately, I have been teaching my niece, a beautiful and inquisitive water-spirit, the things she needs to do; the ways she needs to shape her mouth and think through her words, so that her speech peculiarities don’t impede her the ways they did me until I learned to overcome them.

Sometimes when I am tired, my impediments come back to taunt me, and those are the times I am mean to myself as I echo lashings of laughter from the past.

I really have been working it out lately, and I have definitely learnt some new tricks. I have been making budgets, applying for funding, and making cool art… which I love, because although creativity pours in abundance from my pores, sometimes it feels completely mundane. Those are the times when I am feeling uncertain about the material life, one that seems to me abnormal, but is truly popular to many others. Over the past few days as I have risen again from my own ashes of ashen faced doubt, I have begun again to feel affirmed in what I already do; the things that I normally do; the things that are perhaps extraordinary and not at all normal to most others…

Over the coming months I will do research on the ways that Maori people have been finding place through traditional Maori creative strategies, I am really loving making theory, and living it as art.

I have been having awesome conversations with friends.

Even though they are all over the world, creating their own unique forms of magic, I love them as they love me. Today I am writing and making all kinds of memories.

Life is pretty awesome!