Finding yourself in the witches front room, whilst carrying a conch shell oil lamp.
With a shell light. A shell lit.
Arriving in daylight. Treading some concrete blocks that are fused with rock. There are three little chairs that are cylindrical. Also concrete. The tops of the tubes are scarred. The table that the chairs are stuck around Is crumbled on top. All are rooted to the slabs in stasis.
Behind is a door, that has been made by the wind. It leads through to another room. The other room is obscured. Actually all that is visible where there should be a door is a little window of rock, very yellow from the facing sun.
Two gifts are cable tied onto rusty bannisters. The first gift, maybe it was once some rosemary, is tied in a wreath. Now it looks very dry, but squidgy. All browned, you can still feel the fronds squish, just from looking at it. The second gift is in a clear, plastic sandwich bag. It’s tied up and partially filled with water. Some old herbs and flowers stick out.
If it was night, and if there was an oil lamp, made from a giant conch shell, from Scotland, as that is where they use such an object. Big enough to hold some oil to light, with a brown string tied so that it can be held aloft. The flame and wick pronouncing forward. If that was when the witches living room was found, would the light squish in and show you the other room? Or would the light cleanse the space and ruin it completely?
Just like the lady who taps from one street light to another, swinging a shopping bag, a string of oil lamps creep up the path. Sliding in the front door and into all the corners of her house.
A dance begins. Eyes avert and search.
Eventually eyes close or lock and the scene around invokes you.
I am starting a new text and image piece, intertwined with my MA at Falmouth School of Art. I want to share some of the images here. As time goes on, perhaps I will share more, and reflect on them somewhat. This may be helpful to see how all of this progresses over the next two years.
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