Mostly, I like the shadowy corners of a room. Their dim, quiet darkness. The way the paint looks different.
Sometimes it's true I can't face them. There are days when they look cold, and all I want to do is light them, so there's no shadows and they're warm and the indistinguishable edges of the room suddenly move into sharpness.
But mostly, I like the shadows. They bring depth to a space.
I think there's a metaphor I'm reaching for in this. I've had two long days to think about it, you see. The Northcote Winter Artisans Market (Saturday) and Sonny and Coco (today) were practically deserted. And having no customers means an awful lot of time to reflect. When not eating cupcakes and ginger spice cookies from Melbourne Epicure, that is.
I've had such a rubbish time recently, and it's moved me to tears of frustration and despair, but .... to draw the metaphorical bow even further .... thorns add beauty to a rose, through the sheer fact of their stark contrast.
I can feel the rose in me somewhere. It's at periods like this that I feel myself on the cusp of something. Like the creativity is leaching through my pores and just aching to give way to something amazing. It's as though a tooth is coming in.
Like there's a book inside me, or an act of greatness, or a momentous realisation.
It's like an ache, a yearning, so visceral that I can feel it pressing out from my sternum, and it makes me want to lean forward as though I'm being pulled by something.
But how to reach down to the middle of me, through my innards, and find the edges of that thing amongst all the glistening slipperiness of my organs? How to extract something which doesn't exist except inside my cells? How to make it real?
How to enter the shadows, and bring out bright light?