I posted this on facebook yesterday, and someone said that it was a true fantasy world. I'm not interested in trying to correct their personal resonance, that's the point, that they look into it and see what they see. But when I read their interpretation, I realised that for me this is no fantasy world. This is the world.
This is human experience. I can't really word it ... in here there are elements of symbols and shapes scratched by humans (in this case, Picts...) onto stone, over 2,000 years ago. In an instant, by being present here in my present, these shapes and forms dissolve all the years that stand between me and the maker of those signs. I'm there, and here, in ritual time, in no time. Standing in the experience of a fellow human, with all their wonder and fear, their confusion and their attempts to make meaning; inhabiting their projections onto this strange and unfathomable world, the world of their own strange and unfathomable being. And in this shared ritual time there's a split pain in the belly, a portal into blood and heat. And all around, as fast as the image tries to hold itself true to the meaning it hopes to use to anchor the world inside and outside, all that tries to be solid is melting... the shapes and the colours and the forms that we project in our desperate attempt to hold on, to inhabit and create meaning, are dissolving....
Thanks, Sarah-Jane Summers, for your comment.
