Winter in Banyule is on as I type, in fact I’m being a bit naughty by writing this and not writing my story.
I’m sitting the in the gallery, Banyule Art Space, writing.
I’ve already plotted, done research (well, almost, waiting for one person to reply and another to call me back), drawn a picture, written a timeline and have almost one thousand words on the page.
This is good, this is real progress.
It’s been freeing just sitting here, not a care in the world, simply writing.
(Okay, I have lots of cares, and lots of things to stress about right now, but I can’t focus on that; writing, writing, writing.)
I’m writing about suitcases, fire water tanks, two teen girls, two old women.
There’s a party tomorrow night at the gallery to celebrate the residency, come. It’s between 6pm-8pm, details here, and I’ll be reading from my story.
I’ve got my laptop projected onto the white wall behind me and it’s the strangest feeling having people read as you type. In fact, there is someone looking at it right now. Hi! *waves*
People are coming through and looking and asking questions and it’s… Surreal. Fun. Different.
Writing is such a solitary process that anything that brings it ‘alive’ is a bit weird.
I had the idea of getting a projector to display as I wrote as, in the visual stakes, when my fellow artists are painters, architects, I loose.
So I have this, to make it more visual, and I have two boards.
One, the inspiration board, with photos of suitcases that I’ve come across, and another, where people can write their own ideas as to why someone would abandon a suitcase.
I’m putting photos up on my Facebook page.
Why do you think someone would abandon a suitcase?