Wednesday, June 23, 2010
I returned from Melbourne to bad news. I left Sydney for Brisbane just 48 hours later but not before putting in two sleepless days in the studio to prepare works for consignment next week. I didn't bother to unpack or even shower. I pity the fellow passenger who had to sit next to me for the 90-minute flight north.I'm not sure how long I'll be here. A few days. Not more than a week. I've had to surrender to uncertainty and accept that what happens in each hour – let alone each day – is mutable and beyond my control. I'm no longer the centre of my own little world. I'm at the periphery of someone else's. My role, if I have one at all, is to tender support, love and care. Nothing more. I can't think about art. I can't even think. And right now it doesn't really matter.