I would love to be here, above tree line. I dream of this landscape. It is better than dreams of flying, because I have been here before and I can smell it and feel the breeze. I am scooped up in the blue haze, looking out at the endless shadowy waves, searching for familiar peaks but happy to let the sweep wash over me. I look out from the high ground, thousands of feet above sea-level, brought there miraculously this time, not under my own steam having come from somewhere else in the dream, not through the woods. My feet and hands remember the rocks from scrambling over them, or leaping from rock to rock along an almost imperceptible trail. The cairn in the photograph is designed to keep hikers on the path, to protect the fragile alpine environment. I was on my way upward when I took this photograph, turning to look back at the last of the dwarf trees, and to have a breather no doubt before the last push up the ridge to the top for lunch.
Letter from Glasgow: Salvaging
If I had turned the corner a few minutes later I would never have known about the fate of the piano, like all the other furniture that must have been removed, demolished, discarded, from so many houses over so many years, without my knowing about it. But if I happen to coincide with a throwing out I feel it is my duty to take care of what is left behind. The objects don’t have to be rare or antique. A plain table or chest left in the back lane will catch my attention and I feel that I must look after it, I must take it in. I guess this is how some people feel about abandoned animals. I feel responsible for these objects. But I can’t feel responsible for all this furniture, there is no room in my house for even one more chair.
These last weeks have had a sense of waiting, stillness and tension. I want to go forward, want to press play.