Here is my blog: ColourCirclesite
I wrote a play recently and it premiered at a Zoom event at the end of November. It’s called ‘Sea Too’ and it’s about my moving up here, then the lockdown, and it’s also an eco-play. Here is my write-up on the performance ‘Sea Too’.
Here are some assemblages I do outside, with shells:
Here’s an amazing seaweed I found on the beach just near me, and a sheep eating on Embleton High Common.
And then I also have a little film. maybe this is quite funny because it is about some form of modelling: – shadow posing by the (sea)wall.
Here are 3 poems I wrote in the summer – ‘Run Riot‘, ‘Up Down, Side‘, and ‘Out of Light‘. The first poem is an Earth poem, the second one slightly about the lockdown, and the third one about drawing, and tracing outlines, so that’s the most painting related!
Run Riot Earth looked deep, densely layered in the river, by which I sat the land had been quite arid, horrid at times, and reaching here turned out to be a destination not just a place to pass through metamorphic rock rages in the torrent touching the senses, I must write feeling metaphors and memories mingling in the ages, raging by past me, unfolding my past here unsettling a place unsurpassed I hadn’t noticed how I stagnated now at last I can pass, the threshold is open, the river is ripe, I overflow going insane in the course of it but it has to this way, this path, this is an initiation of sorts, or a riot out of concrete, outside of view, with hindsight, you say you had guessed it, but had we really known, really been here at all, isn’t it all new now, as is each moment, a river running. © Ursula Troche, 7.2020 Up, down, side Once there was a different world upon a string of memories, lived within, now gone. into the outer reaches of reality. A sideline to a centre now shifted and dropped. Out of use, order, or further beyond functioning, now it doesn’t work like this any more. What might have been a dream then is normal now, and vice versa. The way we live has turned upside under and downright different. We wanted a change but we didn’t see the direction, or its dimensions coming. You drove the car and took the train. We kept meeting in the middle. Stopping at nothing but emptiness. As if that’s the only thing we wanted. In there was the rust and the dust, the reality and the dream. And we turned them over and over again. © Ursula Troche, 8.2020 Out of Light Take a line and connect it to itself. Then let that circle be unspoken. Speak of other things, not how you made this space for yourself. I let moments pass, in an experiment on patience. I went to sit on my desk looking deliriously out of the window behind it. The sky transformed beyond my eyes from cloudy to glowing. Colours emerged, a spectrum. Then a prism, a rainbow, aftermath of the rain. The play, then the display, and even the discourse of the colours prompted me to run downstairs and go out. I wanted to be closer to the show, I wanted to see the picture bigger, larger, everywhere. I brought my notebook with me, to take notes from the sky on location, out of doors, out of the house. And there it was, big circle in the sky, filled out with sun. This one had never been a line, its space is primal. Lit, too. I wrote in my lined notebook, on the blank page not filled yet. Underneath my note I drew the circle of the sun. But I couldn’t fill the light in. I just couldn’t. Don’t mention it. © Ursula Troche, 8..2020