Ritual object(ive)

I got out the map today.

Five tiny multi-coloured beads skittered across the table.

I put on my apron.

The apron smelled of fire and is covered in drips of wax.

I got out my beautiful bowl, my jug and buckets.

They reminded me how they sing. Beautiful things to hold.

We are going back to the Cathedral this time during the sleepout in aid of the Whitechapel Centre on 6th April. Something meditative while money is raised and we all think about what it is not to have a home.

The process of making these objects and this action meaningful is complete. There is no pretense. I expect something to happen.

Who will I meet? What will we share?

I have butterflies in my stomach. I am excited. I feel connected. I feel inspired.

I can't wait.

Aleasha

Where you can go when you listen

Imagine this: a long dead relative, maybe one you never met, leaves behind a recording. The sound is of them having a cup of tea in silence. They perhaps, do not realise they are being recorded. The recording captures sounds like their teeth on the rim of the cup, a creak from an armchair, a breath.

I would give so much to have a recording like that, of my grandmother. I never met her though my family say I am like her reincarnation. I have one of her jackets and two photos of her (one of which is a photograph of a passport photo). I want to hear what she sounded like, just breathing or moving about.