No inspiration today. I have been sat looking at random images of owls, the moon, women leaning against walls, badly composed pictures of shoes, out of focus pictures of cats. I have tried to see the art inside the shot then realised that I was beginning to be the type of pretentious prat that fills judging panels of art competitions so decided that instead I would take the pictures as they are and leave them to fill the ether. The void must be filled somehow and what better way than with badly made art. A kind of insulation for the soul.
That got me thinking about my imminent move and all the random tat that I still have adorning my home. At what point does an inanimate object stop being just a functional item and take on a value of sentiment?
How can I feel an attachment to a golf score card for instance! It did its job most successfully on the links while myself, my brother and dad were playing and even had the foresight to know that i would need a map to guide me. But my memories of that day are not attached to the spider like scribbles on the inside pages. The logo on the front does not conjure any warm glow of the day, that is all neatly tucked away in my head. A nice brown paper file marked Golf-Tickenham-2005. Inside a hand written transcript of the days conversation, large parts missing but enough sentences to contextualise, a few random photographs of figures playing golf in the morning mist. This all held in a large filling cabinet.
I remember this because I can at any point not because I am holding a piece of card, I could equally have stirred that memory by holding my clubs or talking to my brother. Maybe its time to remove some of this excess baggage because at the end of the day, or in my case at the end of the month that is exactly what it is going to be, excess baggage.
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