“I have no idea what to make of it,” has been the saying of the last week. Whether it be new art work, strange films, passages in books, or just odd interchanges with complete strangers, each and every time we’ve been shrugging our shoulders and smiling.
The more a person delves into the world of their own work, the outside one makes little sense. Conversations that are had with others that are distant are strained with obscurity and fantastical overtones. If anything the world becomes a little more insane, a good deal less logical, and downright dangerous. Hysterical laughter and anxiety become ones friends, one amusing the other dower, but comforting in each their own way.
In the moments before the sun rises in the morning, within the quiet of a transition into day, the greatest solace is found. Being the coldest part of the day, an overcoat and scarf are ones best friend as you wander out to watch the sky go from black to blue. The foot prints that are created in the frosty grass track from the front garden, back to a sculpture, then to the large wooden table that holds a porcelain cup with coffee. A cigarette is lit, a slow ease of the warm smoke trailing from ones lips in a blue gray swirl. In the pragmatic routines of daily life, especially on the cusp of daylight, everything makes sense.
Then the phone rings, text messages, emails, worries about whether what one is doing has value, compromise, and a constant struggle for solutions. Then finally, in the last few hours of sunlight, reunion, comfort, contact, and the awakening of the senses that have sat quietly throughout the day, being drawn from as reserves. As the darkness of night takes hold, the world quiets once again, into a state of lulling murmurs, that ease into sleep.
And, we still have no idea what to make of it.