'Hand with Bowl and Cat', Nuenen, 1885
Visiting Van Gogh. Or not. Stay at home. Inside. No inspiration. Just me, and the cat. Not trying to prove anything. Whatever. The cat, same contained position. Is it important? A world-shattering statement. Poetry, or anything, what’s it doing anyway? Universalising or particularising. The cat watches from her pillow. It’s not an ego thing. It’s less and less an ego thing. The hand lifts a bowl of water, or milk. Water, milk. A room in June, where the art will do precisely nothing. Or something. Tap a tambourine. Say what? Make a speech. Pencil on paper. Ten minutes. Roly-poly cat!