These dark times require poetry. Poetry for survival, if not of us earthlings, at least of our duty of care. Art as care, art as resilience.

………..

First come words,

                                  often a train of conscience, a poem.

Words create. Poetry embraces the contractions we live in.

They grieve and awe                                 All-At-Once.

Then I encounter/s Matter.

(My) skin enters a conversation with clay bodies, salt dough, eggshells and alginate. — I close my eyes and let them speak. We do so through softness and hardness, moisture, flexibility, and warmth.

Muscles follow.                         Something akin to a dance.

     Concepts and boundaries disintegrate.

.

  Objects emerge.

I place the objects in atmospheres.

Staging atmospheres

                                  — speculations —

                                                world-within-world/s,    

New social codes arise

play, play, Play

.

Meaning/s before thought,                       before language,

hailing our body-knowledge and proprioception.                     Reshuffing our senses

(Dis)(Re)orienting us through shared wonder.

.

Art as resilience,

and              truth.

.

Last comes Alchemy.