the thought-stream of an artist and writer

Tracey Physioc Brockett

the thought-stream of an artist and writer

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Where to Put your Feet When your Head is Occupied Elsewhere

I am working on something I know nothing about. It's thrilling like a spy novel.
I wanted to write about words, about language. About defining things. There are patterns, hidden affinities, meanings I sense and am longing to explore. But there is a barrier between seeing and naming that I cannot cross. I keep trying.


I need to let my body take over. My head is so tired it hurts. It's been holding too much in, juggling and sorting, holding the reins too tight. And my heart... well it usually leads, galloping ahead and falling all over itself like an overexcited puppy, bound for hurt and disappointment. Somewhere in between my body holds it's muscle memories quietly and deeply.


 My hand is like a dancer who has rehearsed so much the music has taken over. I need to be abandonment.


I must suspend belief, judgement, taste.


What ever I think I am doing is bound to have other meanings, like a double agent. Nothing is what it seems. 


The intention that I nurture isn't always what I end up loving in the end.


There is code imprinted under my eyelids, if I can just get in there and learn to read it.


Previous blog about sketching:

Plans and Diagrams; Intention Manifest

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