a monument to the discarded

The continuing uncertainty about my work has wormed in deeper this week, fingers ice cold. In my head it is clear; I want to take up little space, to tread as lightly as possible, to leave barely a trace.

Why then the sudden urge to make and stuff a large blanket vessel? Why the annoyance as it insists on falling over? I want it to tower and sit with heft on the floor.

And then there is another one, full and heavy! It is stuffed with upholsterer’s leftovers heaved from the bin outside, slightly wet and cruddy.





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