Day four: Printmaking at Takahuhti

I wish I could lie in. I wish I could rest as Naoise does, heavy, deep, relaxed. Perhaps al parents sleep lightly, especially when staying somewhere strange and unfamiliar. I feel very safe here, its quiet. Still silence can be unnerving. I lock the doors. I lock out the brown bears and the beasties and the boggie man, but I cannot lock out myself and I am probably the scariest thing in this house.

I left the washing up last night, here there is no-one to answer after, no-one to complain. I can do the housework in my own sweet time. We did’nt have showers last night either, the corridor seemed too far away to bother.

I made Naosie omelettes as per the instructions that Patrick gave me. Naoise is very particular about his omelettes. One has to be careful about the exact quantities of butter and cheese to add to the egg. The egg has to be cooked very thin and golden brown, no burnt bits. I was awarded 2 out of 10. He ate it regardless, but it was’nt as good as daddies.

Naoise is happy to make art and play, but he isn’t a bit interested in posting his work, and he hates the distractions of social media. I am trying to remember to post something of his each day, but its enough just to care for him. Its enough to care for him and write one post a day.

There is an attempt to blur the boundaries between play and art.

ART AND PLAY

PLAY AND ART

PLAY IS NOT FORBIDDEN

PLAY IS FREEDOM

ART IS FREEDOM

I am trying not to over think this project. If you overthink then there is no fun. Actions are thoughts. Act don’t think too much.

I have left invitations to make, to play, to draw , to perform in the house and in the studio. There are no delineations between life and art, art and life. One is the other. The other is one.

By invitations I mean materials and equipment that Naoise can easily access. I cut out two holes from the side of an aeroplane sick bag together  with some instructions suggesting that the bag could become a hand puppet. I asked if he could make the bag into a character by drawing onto it. Then to stick his two fingers out of the holes at the side so that the puppet could have moving arms. He hasn’t noticed that yet or the other recycling that I’ve neatly placed and ordered on a low table just in case creativity and inspiration takes his fancy.

Naosie has begun to draw on my nightie. I have a double bed sheet to use as well. The permanent pens are great but they are really stinky and Naoise does not like the stink.

I am learning. Is this me facilitating him. Him facilitating me. Is this collaboration? Last night we painted opposite each other at the double desk, until he got a plastic splinter in his finger from the cheap paint palette and I banged my toes running to fetch some tweezers. Our accidents called a halt to our art making.

Naosie has started to become afraid of the dark. The frightening began only recently. Naosie is afraid of dark corridors. Places that you cannot see to the end of. I have had to accompany him and help push away the night. As a child I experienced a similar fear. To get to the bathroom at night, I had to attempt a perilous journey along the longest, darkest, scariest corridor ever, The not knowing. The unseen. The dark.