A few days into my residency at Hill End and I can feel changes in myself. Spring here is a sense of urgency and metamorphosis. The blossom on the aged fruit trees is alive with bees, spine bills and honeyeaters.
A spotted pardalote and his mate a blue wren batter themselves on the kitchen window, convinced that they are defending their territory. A magpie that I’m paying protection money to (tit bits) is already feeding fledglings.
Daffodils, jonquils and snowdrops are blooming in Murrays garden heralding the season.
A brisk and gusty cold change swept through on Sunday, swirling around the valley and blowing me off my feet on Bald Hill. Only a few spots of rain.
Each day, I have started by lying in bed, woken by the birds (lately a very monotonous whoop whoop of a pigeon), and think about the day ahead.
But I only think about the first few steps, and then let the day unfold, as I follow thoughts and “what ifs” around.
I haven’t done this before, allowing a fissure to open with no real beginning and no real end and giving myself permission to just go with it.
I feel a responsibility to my original proposal, but also to where that has leading me to. It’s hard to describe how uncluttered my mind feels (no signal, internet or TV helps!) as I write, draw, experiment, ponder, what if, hang out bits of cloth to dry, walk, photograph, think, stitch and weave.
I am trying to take each day, one at a time, as I allow this largely alone time to strip back distraction and let creativity run its course.
I’m not sure my practice will be the same after this month in Murray’s Cottage, which is exciting to contemplate, because at this point the journey is not clear.