Here I am, at the beginning of a new project. It has been in discussion for a few weeks and now the practical stuff must be applied. It's a challenge I'm confident with, but this means nothing. The gap between talking of doing something and actually doing something is a place in which other things grow in interest, and you aren't sure if it's disproportionate or not, so one had better have a good distracting think about it.
I like a project to simmer in my mind for a while (a very apt soup metaphor. Exactly as I make soup, in fact, I have to get a sense of a flavour and then the herbs and spices work.) But how easy it would be to wander away in this pitch of fascination, wander completely off subject…
In the clear day sky, a broken eggshell moon is left. An oversight, or act of defiance?
A chair is rediscovered under the washing pile.
Old sketchbooks consulted: remember the series of prints done with plasticine and ink? Mixed media abstracts with glitter glue and greaseproof paper?
At work when night falls: hear the crackle, the whiz, the boom, but see none of the fireworks tonight.
One might even speak of politics, ponder on history, given the Guy Fawkes connection. I am quite cross about the Enclosure Acts.
How lovely, back at my desk: all the potential of blank pages in my gleaming project sketchpad. Funny how empty things can seem so full of life.
A pack of drawing pens, unopened: ditto.
Time to start.