Mike was recorded in early after lunch light a moon sickle seen behind the clouds but not yet Night Writing. The darkness I’d experienced had been when I tipped over the spare seats next to me, on the plane, and slept the way from Sydney to Adelaide. Esther will be recorded in pitch black in Tasmania. This evening it was half dark when I called to Lachlan across the round about as he hurried towards our studio with an erudite gaze into The Flame Tree,
Soon we were in studio, talking while the mikes were being tested and told what to do, about boats, poem wave, how treasures are buried beneath not so often on top. Thursday’s live event is one, two, three sleeps away but
I hold my tongue from describing about the beauty of our N installation that I and my Friend, saw for the first time, yesterday afternoon in Camilla’s back yard; under moon light Camilla crouched, painted and wove materials around a wood husk that was the body of Lachlan’s poem. In the far end of her yard another poem body was drying off varnish and signs of Esther (blue plaits) hung from the nose tip. As I tip toed around metal pots, plant necks and paint daubs, Camilla’s friend carved and twisted wood that is to hold the Braille poems and suspended from for spidery legs were arms of Mike Ladd.
All these objects being nailed, scaled and sawn together to make a place for the audience to experience Nightwriting. A perfect Sunday treat, to be reminded by Camilla that a poem is made and re made with each read and in each position. I still am ruminating on, the frenzy of ideas that swell only when lights are of the shadow of a moon. In night, writing, walking, holding, allows eyes to see, you see the most beautiful things or most horrific things, depending on who is standing next to you, lit, light, alive to the person in the moon.
