over a series of g-chats, i explain to sheena that maine felt “quite right” and california feels “quite different.”
difficult to explain the unfitting and the way i bend, lean, and quiet to fit it.
these days, i’m spending time with a 9 month old who has adorably but regretfully smashed my iphone to glass pieces that cut my finger when i text. i’m anticipating a day to learn to paddle surf and how / what this place will teach me.
always, returning to the black mountain artist and the real sense of place . a need for a sense of place, a feeling. i know, logically, that being an outsider can help you experience place better: think gertrude stein. but the interior is still midwestern: rows of corn and brick buildings, a long winter.
suppose this is going from flat and cold geography to an interior sense – like Buddhist emptiness, like the transparent eyeball or negative capability. but the interior seems wrecked without the rooms, the buildings, the places to hide things that Chicago had. in California, with so much open space and room, with glass windows that are tall and a sliding glass door from the floor to the ceiling, it’s less hiding.
i go out for wine with a new friend and watch myself not know what to say. even the glass is bigger, the stem is longer, and everything’s just trying to fill the space of a wine room that’s unfinished, not quite done or settled into itself.
this makes me think of the kenya photographs that i’ve been spending time with–how can i know that place and what is chelsea telling us by documenting it? i’m moved to write about carrying place with you, within you. and have two days ahead to start talking to the kenya photographs.