I could have stood there for hours, letting all the civilised words in me unravel until I was just love and storm in the night wind. It's so easy to sense our forever, out there in the wild and beautiful dark.
Yesterday I mentioned something Kelly Sauer wrote about loving her own work. (Kelly is one of my favourite photographers and also has taught me much through her example over the years about taking oneself seriously and designing a creative brand.) She wrote that she wants her own work to be her favourite.
I had never before considered such a perspective, but it instantly made sense to me. I don't want to write what I can write, or even what I should write, but what I love best out of all the ways in the world to write. And I want to do it as well as I possibly can. Consequently, it should follow that my own work would be my favourite. Not because I think it's superior, but because it embraces all I love.
Of course, it isn't that easy. I might happily say a quilt I've made is my favourite, even compared with shop-bought ones, but something I've written - ? I don't understand why the difference should exist, but it does. Writing is not so unlike quilt-making, and yet it seems generally a greater humility, discretion, is expected in writers (and artists) than in people who do handwork. Do you agree?