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| William Kentridge, Royal Academy London, 2022 |
The cat, words above its head, the shadow and marks on the wall. I've felt ambushed a little by November, perhaps in a good way, mostly in an ambivalent way. And the scratchiness, discomfort of William Kentridge's image, a photo I took two Novembers ago, seems the only way to express this November feeling.
The library books, the gym, the swimming pool, the sewing, picking tomatoes (still - outside) are ways of accommodating the scratchiness, of mitigating it. And it hasn't been cold, not too grim, a little, but there are months when old festivals make sense and I wish I hadn't closed the curtains, that I'd stood next to a bonfire reflected in all the windows around a village green, watched wood burn to ash.
Yes, November's got to me but there's a lot to do and more in the world to focus on when it comes to feeling.
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