Possible new art projects keep leaping at me, asking for action. Two days ago it was embroidering and painting on a sheet that I could fold up and put in my suitcase to take home. I discovered a new secondhand bookshop that offered up inspirations. Yesterday it was exploring my need for roses and rose gardens. I brainstormed connections in a flurry of excitement, drew a mind map, uncovered all sorts of ideas waiting to be explored. Today it’s the importance of attending to beauty that calls to me. I dive into my computer files to find the notes I made on this a year or so back.

Less than 2 weeks into my prolonged stay here, I rushed out to visit a possible studio space. Then I paused. In a week’s time, we’ll be full-time preparing for Christmas with little time for the studio. Maybe I’ll need a bigger space for the work I want to do. Or maybe I’ll want to work differently.

I stop and breathe. I step back and return to my journal pages. Breathe.

And decide to let it all settle. To take my time.

There’s all the urgency in the world in my heart. And yet I recognise that I need more time for mulling.

The emergent poetic – which is my life’s project – requires its own time. My intuition is whispering – take your time, take time to ponder and mull, no rush.

I will allow more time. I will let the ideas and possibilities land, and I will engage in dialogue with them, and begin with small moves that allow emergence. I will resist imposing form on the next poetic project before its time of emerging.

I move the long table into the apartment so it’s there when needed. I place a pale orange rose bush on my balcony for gazing at. I open a fresh notebook and begin to write.

Is there something you need to mull, other than the red wine?