It snowed overnight. Shrouded in white, the world looks unsaturated. The light that falls through my bedroom window is cold, the room is half shadow. Open boxes and bags filled with a miscellaneous mix of my personal belongings cover the floor of the room. The shelves are filled with books and knickknacks that tell the story of another person’s life. Photo albums, books from art exhibitions, toys, drawings, family portraits.
I had been planning to write a blogpost about the time that Rico and I travelled to Orkney in 2016 and posting it now seems right. The memories that the photographs hold should not change because things are over. That is something I feel very strongly about, even though exactly that – treasuring these memories anyway – can often be difficult, especially during the time soon after the break-up when everything is still so raw and painful.
When I flick through an old sketchbook, I am always surprised by how well I can remember the circumstances while I was drawing the pictures. Here is my old sketchbook from this year which I didn’t consistently use but has many very different memories concealed in it.
The place where I grew up had no autumn. Once summer ended, it only got colder. And darker.
The colours seemed to seep out of the landscape and into the sea that would swallow them, and toss them about until they sank into its depth.
Dusk. Black wires stretched over our heads and we looked up trying to follow the paths to their origins. On the sides of the open area on the roof of the “Münster Theater” we found buttons on the ends of dangling wires. Pressing one of them meant setting off church bells others triggered other sounds. Sometimes it was difficult to differentiate between the sounds of the outside world or the noise created by the installation we were standing in.
Some people need to structure their lives more than others. I am one of those people. I like knowing what I am going to do in a day and I hate it when plans don’t work out. Even the smallest plan change can leave me confused and disorientated, something that many of my friends don’t understand. And yes, it often makes me feel I am the most annoying person to spend time with.
Last weekend, Rico and I went to the Zoo with my little brother Dunstan.
Rico had free tickets for all of us, as he has started an apprenticeship at the Zoo working as a trainee Zookeeper. I wanted to draw some animals, Dunstan (he usually photographs wild animals in nature, and I personally find his photographs very impressive) wanted to photograph them, and Rico wanted to find out more about the way the Zoo was built up from a “visitor’s” perspective.