It’s the first of November, All Souls’ day is tomorrow. I’ll miss the reverent atmosphere of the cemeteries in Poland, with their flowers and candles burning on every grave, twinkling in the night as if that is the place to be. The veil between ancestors and living people is thin. Of course in places in the world where people are being regularly killed, the veil is constantly scrunched up underfoot.
Art-making in these circumstances is a strange activity when you think about it. and a very clear and obvious one, when you don’t. It’s life doing itself.