| Architecture LIVE 18 |
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| The focus now turns inwards, towards the safe haven of the small field by the roadside where the cabin nestles alongside the half completed living space. There are plenty of jobs in need of attention. The mystery of engagement is about to begin. |
| The clay-straw has dried thoroughly and a pair of swallows are nestbuilding on the rafters. The space seems enormous as does the task at hand. Out in the field vigorous growth is swamping paths and planting beds. The sun blesses this with intensity and warmth. |
| The magic of the cabin is enthralling even as I am terrified by doubt. We perform a ritual at the unfinished building, reconnecting, waking it up. |
| I remain half-hearted however. My body is sluggish. I am intimidated by the unknown, appalled at my own fear. There is something that I want that I am not getting. This has been a theme and a puzzle all of my life. I hope this ongoing building project will provide me with some answers. |
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| I do battle with the nesting swallows, blocking up the windows to bar their entry. They dart and swoop determined to complete their half-completed nest. Inside, I negotiate my way round in the murky silence puzzling as to where best begin. The plastering? The lean-to? The floor? The ceiling? The enigma of this project stands as large as the building itself. I can find no clarity, only further questions. Old feelings creep up and weigh me down. |
| On the night of the full moon I tear the veil from the south face of the building in a symbolic act of opening. Alanna & I circumnavigate the structure intoning all the while our hopes and wishes. I dream of being on top of the world, Alanna by my side, careering above a beautiful city studded with bodies of water. All of this encouragement bouys my spirits, strengthens me inside. The sequence of unfolding is clarifying. I am crafting my way forward seeking out the light. |
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| Internal finishing begins. Colds of wet clay plaster are slapped onto the wall, smoothed and polished. The internal space shuffles forward towards a new dawn. I contemplate the future through the open windows and question my direction. I imagine the development here falling into decay and me never returning. The mystery of this is profound. What is happening? |
| I have no idea. I work in a fog of unknowing, thrusting to the invisible realms to keep me out of harms way. The building entices as often as it confounds, throwing up questions as casually as a seasoned interrogator. |
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| The tempo of the physical work follows an enigmatic pattern throwing me about like a feather in the wind. I revel in this excitement, as much as I cling to the familiar like a child. When I relinquish control and allow the elements to have their way I am freed of gravity. The future is but an unfolding reality, as simple as pages turned in a book. Slathering clay plaster onto the dry walls is therapeutic. This healing is as rich and succulent as mothers milk or a mentors praise. My life is expanding. Just like the universe this is as enigmatic as it is dynamic yet the sensation is one of stillness and a certain repose. |
| Meanwhile, the world continues on its merry way. Figures are bandied about describing the recovery of the world economy, a rosy picture projected onto the emptiness that passes for real life. I can only spectate on this fantasy, watch in fascination as the world is remade in its own image. Lying prone in the cosy cabin on a wet day, I am ensconced in a childhood dream of freedom, rain streaming down the window pane. |
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| I contemplate the world from the scaffold where I am applying clods of mud to the facade. This is the first external wall to be plastered. Here, I reveal my intentions to the world and await, with fascination, the response. Clay ennobles or confounds in equal measure. There are no half-measures, no fudging of the issues involved. It is a case of full immersion, or remaining firmly on dry land. I know where I belong – out in the depths, roving the horizons and scanning the sky. Its time to lighten up, to shed weight, to relinquish baggage and be nimble. Possessions are death as are unsustainable commitments and active blindness. Get lean and mean. Pare down. Lighten up. Take to the roads. |
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| Architecture LIVE 17 |
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