27 February 2013


 Coconut flower stalks, coconut flex, banana straw and raffia.

Between projects and a little out of sorts, I spied the bag of
booty I had brought down from Corn Buck a few weeks ago
and looked inside. Play, the doing of something for the sheer
pleasure of it, is a pastime that I have forgotten to indulge in.
Work is worthy, as is cleaning, cooking etc. but play, as with
sticks in mud or a stone skimmed, has somehow become
something that I find myself either never having the time for
or feeling guilty about.
The very word 'indulge' suggests a secret vice.
I was surprised to realise this about myself, surprised by how
serious and earnest I had become about 'the work' and even
more surprised by the fact that I was surprised that the flow
of creativity had dried up.

1 comment:

  1. I like this play-thing you've made!

    You're so absolutely correct...lack of play can make creativity dry up.

    Hmmm...so that's what's been wrong with me recently...I haven't been playing much, that is, walking and looking at things on the roadside and telling myself odd stories about them in my head.

    I need to play music and dance madly again too.


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