I pick up a piece of rubble on the beach, I pick up myself
What do I make of it? What do I make of me?
Discarded, junk, rubbish that no one cares about, on this deserted beach
What do I see?
I see patina, cracks and lines left by time, tensions, and pulls in different directions
I see roughness and smoothness together in contrasting beauty
I see character that stands out amongst uniformity
I see potential of something more, once associated with others
Shall I leave the rubble there, to be taken away by the ocean?
Washed away, drowned
The water slowly making materiality dissolves
Opening cracks like open wounds
Slowly bringing it back to sand to disappear in the ground
Or shall I bring it home? Safe inside
On the table, shall I give it company or leave it alone?
It has a life of its own and spontaneously finds its place
A dialogue opens up with who is already sitting there
Contrasting lines, complementary textures, shades of colours
The play is exquisite and all-consuming
Pleasure and delight
That’s what a piece of rubble picked up on the beach gives me.