(via reniazen)
‘A writer should write what he has to say and not speak it.’
Ernest Hemingway’s Banquet Speech on receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature, 1954
Today has been spent cracking open time capsules: the bag preserved since my last day of college; the piles of junk I brought back from uni each year and never touched again; prints, notes and drawings received and stashed away, which I like to think were subconsciously intended to be found on an overcast Saturday.
A selection of unearthed effects:
- 1 pair of spoons (musical instr.). Present from boyfriend. Yet to be mastered by either of us.
- 5 almonds (loose).
- 1 birthday card with ‘happy birthday’ scribbled out and replaced with ‘FUCK YOU’. From an ex-housemate.
- 1 ‘You’re Leaving’ card. Inside, uncharacteristically sentimental from my ex-boss: ‘Have a great time at university. We’ll keep you on the casual books.’ Still brings a tear to my eye.
- 1 penny whistle. Presumed lost in the sea of time. Now tastes like the sea.
- 1 slip indicating the training I completed during my Argos induction. Thankfully this included ‘Safety with Cages’.
- 2 broken ukuleles.
- 3 cameras containing half-used film. Very excited about these - one circa ‘99.
- 1 aforementioned college bag. Apparently slung in a corner on my last day, without a backward glance. Inside: two ‘permission to be absent from sessions’ slips (both falsified); three homemade Kurt Cobain transfers; one purse containing enough change for a coffee at work (reward); one copy of my ‘exit interview’ form. Reads: ‘What are your future plans?’ Answered: ‘Go to university, complete an English degree, take it from there.’ And that is exactly what I’m still doing.
The clear-out continues.
via fuckyeahknitting:

Spotted in Berlin:

I have a feeling my next project will involve an old bike and a visit to the Scrap Store. Possibly on said bike (tbc).
- Paul Gauguin