i sit on the floor on the other side of the room: the centre of my body centred on the space between the two cabinets, black dress, leggings and shoes. my legs are crossed at my ankles. i breathe in, uncross my legs, sit them down, then cross them again. — end.
– this is observed by one person. from a number of positions and heights. first: behind the desk, seated; then, standing between desk and cabinets, leaning on them; standing right in front of the gap, facing me directly; then at the same location, kneeling down; sitting to the right or left of me, legs similarly stretched out; finally: standing in the doorframe, the door is ajar, my legs are visible but not the rest of me. the person moves slowly from position to position.
this happens without speaking. what the observer observes is up to them.
light: either ceiling light, preferably though natural lighting.
i had written and posted the material within this in a different order. it wasn’t just text 1, text 2, image, text 3. but text 2, image, text 3. text 1 just remained placed but not published.
i wanted to convey that non-linearity in the PDF too and set up an InDesign version of it; it iterates now, there are probably more variations that are meaningful within it, and there is more attention to font type and placement to be paid, but this works as another sketch.
if you can set your PDF viewer to view it as two-page spread, that will be perfect (it’s a5 size if you want to print it)
expectation will recognition [blank] resolution [blank]
expectation / will
spur of the moment: i ask if i can hang out with the cabinets. i can. there is no light in the room. the heating doesn’t warm the room. i sit down opposite them. there is on them no real hue other than the grey. i kind of except for something to hit me. what can possibly hit me here? a recognition a resolution an ending. — i feel restless though: don’t want to keep staring and the familiar thought from before enters again: maybe these objects are all that they are. maybe you have seen all of them. why do you linger still? i feel hesitant to move away from them. i kind of wish they would transcend my time here with them and others. but of course i don’t know if they will. in fact i know, they will, but will i.
something in what i write and print makes me sad.
it is a soft sadness. all warm tears and shy.
it is one that can’t be social and barely bears the lunch that i later feed it
its strength and presence surprise
while i am uncertain what it concerns
it doesn’t come at the moment of writing
neither when i reread
yet it floods while i hold the paper
the writing concerns as the discussion this morning
the role of crisis, then will
for a creative process
what i narrate in the morning
i move through at lunch
yet, this time, the fear of nothing
is stronger and floods my face
all that i can think of is feeding it back into the process
of noting and depositing it right at the heart of nothing
in that, i make my own will strong and let it reach into the nothing
i discover the source of sadness within the violence of my plan the plan that would transform one to another and in the process destroy what was one the plan always hovered as the ending for what was i have hesitated for 15 months to enact it
i thought i could mitigate by recording, observing some more by attending to all that is right now and to note it all
my sadness is the recognition that i cannot
that i still do not understand its process its unfolding its becoming not understanding it how can i proceed to undo it?
will there be a point at which i understand enough of nothing to be confident to proceed undoing it to be safe in the knowledge that no harm comes to it, myself, someone
and so, that anticipated end state will not it exists as prospection as plan as utopia the current state is resolution and recognition
my expectation took me my will turns wish and remains