Or rather, unrolls…
So here I am, notching the little marks onto my till rolls; notch after notch, roll after roll, on and on. I love the Prufrock-esque banality of this clip – the pet hair on my top, the washing hung to dry in the background, typical of a thousand Sunday afternoons.
“For I have known them all already, known them all-
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;”
The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock
T S Eliot
I’m still engaged in making these paper rolls; I’m really busy with several work projects at the moment, so the simplicity appeals to my frazzled and overloaded brain. It’s like an oasis of calm for ten minutes each day. The precision and uniformity of it helps my brain shift down a gear; the repetition is like meditation.
One centimetre for each day of my life, check, check, check. One roll is a year, tear it off at the end, a receipt for the year spent… spent doing what? Images and ideas drift in and out of my mind; I mark off the centimetres, like footsteps through my thoughts. Check, check, check… time marches on, indifferent.
I thought that the lines on these little paper rolls would change over time and somehow flow more organically; but the small pencil marks resolutely refuse to follow the plan. They forge ahead over the paper relentlessly, a little graphite army, like the ticking of the clock. Check, check, check; tick, tick, tick. On and on, out of the past, through the present, and on into the future. I have no choice but to follow them.
I am my journey and this is my story. This is what it means to be me.
We are running a Creative Arts Café project – visit the post on our blog here.