This old armchair sits in a shed. It rocks quietly, maybe, when the heavy door is shut.
I took photos when I went back. I was careful not to fall in the Well. There were timbers over the top and it might not be that safe. Going back. The chair was heavy. With dust. With someone still there. There is a wood stove in the corner, drums and white buckets. Gas bottles, they're everywhere. Stories like lead. They sink. They take you deep There are footprints in the dust
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hello to and the first few words and beginnings sitting here with a head of slowly ideas forming and these flowers picked from somewhere long ago in the clay pot made with Ralph who inspired all and is still feeding us |
Lisa ScholzArtist life in abstract Archives |