National Blog Posting Month has contributed to a particularly inspiring November for me. So much other creative activity has been rustling away in the background but this blog project of writing 100 words for art every day set the pace and kept my mind in creative mode. So, it's been time-consuming but has had the usual effect of upping the productivity all round. Best of all, I have discovered some amazing artists whose work might otherwise have passed me by, and been able to share their visual wonders with other people who (like me) aren't able to spend afternoons drifting around London galleries very often.
So, day 30 is a bit of a cheat, as my 100 word drabble today is to go with the photograph that appears at the top of this blog. It's not art, it's not in an exhibition and it never will be, but I get to make the editorial decisions around here! And for once it's based on a true story. I'll be back in December to write about writing, and probably about art too.
When the sharp brambles blur, when the puffballs turn to clouds between my toes and the horizon tips, it’s not because I’m out of breath. The footprints are invisible but they are yours, pressed here in the night when only a fox could see and we were blind, shrunk by sky. I hardly slept that night and I know why: it was to remember, every star that hurtled by, every glint of the fox’s eye, circling, sniffing for our souls. And we left some traces of them here, for the fox, for me when I trace your footprints through pines.