Well as half term approaches, so my days at the hut are numbered. Sigh. Being there has been an eye-opener. A gift. And a lesson. Namely: the more time I have, the more head space, the more I write.

This probably seems a simple equation. If x = y, then 2x = 2y.

Not exactly, however. In reality, if time x requires me to sit and write RIGHT THEN, or I won’t get anything done for another week, then yes, I might produce y.

It’s an eked out creative existence, though, one put together *between* other things. I’m lucky, I can usually write something when I have even the tiniest slot of time. I’ve trained myself well!

What I did not anticipate was the exponential effect of doubling or even trebling x. And then adding another variable, let’s call it z. Now z is neither x (time) nor y (work produced), but in combination with x, z seems to have an incredible effect on y in any case.

Z is white space. Z is free fall. Z is nothingness. So if I were to include z in the equation like so: 3x + z = ?…I could only quantify it as zero. In which case it has no effect on the balance of things.

Ah, but it *does*.  This kind of equation for my time at the hut seems better: 3x + z = 3y + z. Where z can be ANYTHING. And even to look at, it expands the equation, it makes it open-ended, infinite, etc. And this expansion is partly what this feels like. Anything is possible.

Saying all this, I have the feeling that what I’m really talking about is trigonometry or even calculus, where equations are not worked out around equal signs, but around functions, or change. And then what you put in can have an exponential effect on the result.  Which is even closer to how I feel…. But I can’t remember anything of trigonometry, and passed college calculus by the skin of my teeth, so oh well.

Suffice it to say that z has entered my bloodstream now, and I will always be on the search for, and respect, the empty space and freedom z brings. It is invisible. And vital. And not a waste of time. So there.

Some more photos then from the last week or two, when suddenly it became summer. I became obsessed with my actual view through the hut window… Rothko-like I thought… and of course wrote a poem about it.

Advertisements