kysa
Ivy grows green, coarse, thick.
Why is it always the plants we don't want which are the strongest, hardest, clingiest?
I guess we only value the stuff which isn't everywhere.
Which is such a shame, when you think of all the amazing things which there are out there which are in abundance.
Junk is an odd kind of thing.
All the thing we leave behind, the waste and the unwanted.
The rubbish, the nonsensical items we have no clue what to do with, all become disregarded and unwanted.
Sent off to this strange junkyard, wasteland, where they're sense will rot away along with the objects themselves.
The marketplace was deserted. Dust gathered on the cardboard bookshelves, carpets hung abandoned from the backs of the stalls. Untouched, untroubled.
Then, from the silence there rang a high pitched scream.
Materials don't need to be seen, they need to be felt.
All is about texture. Soft, hard, smooth, rough, pliable, stiff, velvet sheek or sandpaper scrape.
Vision lies so often. Things appear too far away , too close, untrue. Our eyes skim over things, miss the important details and only see the bigger picture, which is nothing without the little details, anyway.
Like a jigsaw puzzle, it wouldn't be anything at all if you hadn't sat there, sprawled on the floor with nonsensical shapes splayed out in front of you, for half an hour beforehand- Piecing together the puzzle, making sense of the senseless.
In a moment I want you to close your eyes.
I want you to forget what you have just seen, raise your dominant hand, and just feel your way, see with your fingertips, pick up all the details you would otherwise have missed.
And more importantly, think. Focus.
Does the material feel scarlet red, vivian green, prussian blue? If it made a noise, what would it sound like? Crunch or leaves, rush of wind, thundering of hailstones on tiled roofs? Don't forget taste. Bitter lemon, sweet strawberry, rich chocolate?
Do it, do it now, and close your eyes.