Center of all centers, core of cores, almond self-enclosed and growing sweet- all this universe, to the furthest stars and beyond them, is your flesh, your fruit.
Now you feel how nothing clings to you; your vast shell reaches into endless space, and there the rich, thick fluids rise and flow, Illuminated in your infinite peace.
A billion stars go spinning through the night, blazing high above your head. But in you is the presence that will be, when all the stars are dead.
I think we all approach life in a vaguely similar manner, the creative urge is in us all. The farmer who has just ploughed his field will look back at the neat rows of furrows with the same pride as Jackson Pollock would have done after splattering the canvas. Even the way we stack the plates on the draining board or hang the washing on the line can be infused with the same creative urge.
— Bill Drummond, The Guardian, May 28, 2012
(I put up this photo because altar making is something I just “do” all the time. For me, it is an ongoing way I express my creativity. Bill Drummond owns the tower and has created the artist residency there.)
