The First Page

The first page of anything is a daunting threshold but always a beautiful, potent place.

The start of a new project is the start of a new notebook for me. A place to store and sketch my growing thoughts and ideas, it becomes an inseparable ally as projects grow. These words were the first I entered, late last year, as this project began to grow from an idea to a concrete reality. Here are my very first thoughts.

It is these first words that map the emotional kernel at the heart, and spark with true intent. It is these words that lay a soft thread, from the beginning, for when the tumultuous activity conceals the origins and redefinitions settle in like a thunder cloud.

And rain is on the horizon, as with any time we think about hanging out the washing. And what of the empty lines in the back courts? What of their jaded yarns and old chipped posts and poles. What of the crisp sheets and mottled cottons that dance and hang in the open air. Each of their own quiet story on a domestic stage. Cuffs and stitches, logos and patterns, faded in and worn out. A portrait of imperfection. A landscape of reality.

What still of the patrons? Their chilled and stiff hands loading over-arm a chore of fresh linen. Small and large fingers alike pinch hard on multi-coloured pegs, to chance the elements. Who are these people, as they tug out the same creases and whip hard the same stiff sheets, minds elsewhere. To air out our laundry is to persevere. One of the many undefined acts that cast us in a theatre of human life. It confirms us.



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