I am making things

I am making things

things that are beautiful

things that make me cry

things that, when I hang them up against the light,

shimmer

things that other people see

and say

they're lovely

Apparently

it is not enough that they are lovely

They need to be something more

They need to have a reason to be

(other than that I've made them)

They need to be explained

(and I have no explanation)

Why can they not just be

perfect

and beautiful?

Something I learned tonight

(this is a big thing, I think.

a big think.)

The thing I thought

that I thought

I knew

and that

nobody

(except me)

thought it

(or knew it)

I told.

The people I told it to

(the people I loved and who

I thought

loved me too)

thought.

They thought

I was mad.

They said no.

It can't be.

No, they said.

No.

No.

I would if I could

If only I could

investigate

record my findings

maintain this

present my ideas coherently

define them

identify my main sources of reference

explain my working methods

answer questions

(from my tutor and fellow students)

put forward my written proposal

(detailing all necessary information)

I'd be fine

Site specific (2)

When all is done I turn

to words

(the cat sits in the hallway,

waiting

to pounce)

When the only thing to do

is nothing,

why

does something

have

to be done?

Why is this house so big? Why

do the cats

shit

on the landing?

Why

has the wine

all gone?

Because.

Because I'm your mother,

that's why

Site specific

It might be an earth work

turning the land

into something else

or more like itself

It might be a scream

It might be something meant

or

simply

an

exercise

It might be the first idea I had

or something more

considered

It might be colours

(cobalt, maybe)

and music

It might be a spider's thread

thrown

from here to there

trembling

It might be something

or nothing

It might work

or play

I wish

I knew

Life is all very well

until

it's not.

You (I) can just

keep on keeping on until

one evening

when

there's no coal and the last log

smoulders,

gasping

When silence screams

in your (my) ears

and the task

will not come right

When the thing you (I)

said you (I)

were (was) going to do

simply didn't get done

and the dead

line

looms

Being organised

What I really have to do is write a 1500-word visual analysis on the theme of Conflict but what I really want to do is download some photos off the digital camera. The camera is in my handbag - a gloriously frivolous confection with beaded handles, made of hessian interwoven with glitter and embellished with flowers and more beads and cleverly embroidered chiffon offcuts. (That's the bag, not the camera . . .)

Also in the bag, and interfering with my ability to find the magic piece of kit that will connect the camera with the computer and therefore enable the downloading, are the following:

• a very large (and heavy) new ball of very thick string, and what's left of another one
• a slightly smaller (and lighter) new ball of thinner string
• two green luggage labels, complete with the string needed to tie them to luggage
• a cone wound round with several hundred metres of gossamer-thin silvery thread, of the sort bought to construct spiderwebs with. The kind of spiderwebs that, as soon as they're constructed, get blown away by the breath of angels
• a smaller cone supporting a rather sturdier silvery thread that - so far - has withstood the angels' breath
• a pair of grey-handled scissors
• a box of 400 silver drawing pins (minus some, and not really silver), made in China
• a NatWest left-handed chequebook
• the 11 yellow HB pencils with red rubbers on the ends that have survived from the original pack of 24
• a mobile phone, hardly moving at all
• three handwriting pens (£1.25 from Tesco and a bargain if you have realistic expectations) and a ballpoint
• various receipts, a purple cigarette lighter, and a 5p piece.

Now they're all out, I've found the magic lead.