In defense of Sock Sorting

Yesterday I lifted the lid of my pressure cooker brain and let out some steam. I didn’t plan it, but by the end of the day I hadn’t lifted so much as a finger in terms of ‘making it happen’ on my project. I went to an audio visual exhibition with the intention of ‘study’ but ended up having an essential chat with the lovely, hair twirling, coffee making, fellow creative creature at the door. She’d invited me to come visit her there after an impromptu Women’s Day gathering of Pizza and cigars on Dam square the evening before.

The exhibition was kind of lame. I took it as a moment gently signifying that I have exhausted that part of my process – outward research that is, and that it was time to apply what I’ve seen and crystalise my own idea. And in the act of not ‘doing anything’, I feel like the idea had time to cook, unstirred. Some meals need that, the fragrance of which showed up in my dreams last night. Its taking shape in my head, piece by piece. In my dream I was standing in front of the structure of my installation with my mother, explaining the content to be projected onto it. I got only halfway when she started singing and packing it up, with wild protests from me that I hadn’t finished. I woke up so annoyed. I think its because I was going to start bullshitting anyway. The rest of the idea is not there yet. So more cooking required.

Yesterday that meant getting out the house, having chats about someone else’s creative endeavours, having a laugh and un-awkward chat with someone I met at the gallery, being enthused by the addition of a new Dirk supermarket to the neighbourhood (so much friendlier than Albert Hein), and in celebration supporting the bakery section of the place and eating it on the tram home (something that I feel is a habit from the third world more. I rarely see people eating en route here, whereas at home the cracking open of a steamy fish parcel in a crowded train would get you at most a wrinkled nose, but there would be no prohibitionary sign to go with it). I was home at the time of day when the sun hits the bed at just the right angle and absolutely took it as a call for nap time as I escorted my Dirk van Den Broek belly to the natural VIP area. After naps i felt the need to get my shit together but couldn’t bring myself to work on my idea, so I turned my attention to productive procrastination instead. Enter the long ignored pile of mismatched socks! The sense of achievement attained from finally reuniting these star-crossed pairs, was all the purpose I needed for one day. The other useful thing I did was take my bum to yoga first thing that morning. Perhaps that’s what had set the tone for me to slow down. It having been a ritalin free day might also have had something to do with it.

So did I waste my time? Ultimately, no. When I get to the other side of this and am asked about how its done, a golden piece of advice will be to carve out a day just for farts. Especially if you’re a bit of a creative fart yourself. Its needed – a day of attention for the self, outside of achievement. And its not to say that I wasn’t still busy with it in my head, like all the time. It was just in the background as I cranked up the volume of my earphones and silent-discoed the hell out of the private space of my bathroom.

POA: Spend half hour on follow up research online. Refine Answered questions on self made questionnaire. Move on to sketching idea on paper. Digitise Idea and contact people for collaboration. Revisit Planning and seek help for getting back on track if you’re out. Plan in realisation of Concept Check presentation. Go to work at cinema. Wake up on Saturday knowing what to do. Don’t drink alcoholic beverages.


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