Clay Steps

andygoldsworthy - background

Throughout the Triennial our hosting team will be writing blog posts about their day-to-day experiences of life at Folkestone Triennial 2014. Liz Parker has written a poem inspired by Andy Goldsworthy…

Clay Hands

An entrance greeted by a gentle probing pulse,
belonging to the light which filters through the aching clay,
gracefully skimming the floor, soaked daily, on order for the clay to stay

The surrounding darkness invites a blissful awareness
of quiet thoughts for future footholds in the foundation of resources
readily available but looked upon in disdain (in people who are plain)

A tide of relief from the ones in grief over what their imagination withholds
and of course that is nothing but shards of light in which the dust does dance

determined others stride boldly as if youth sat on their shoulders
and like a shower drenches them clean of their fear and fright

Hands are invited but not to touch, if and when said hands should blush!
Imagining the down pore if a finger were to probe an area sore,
A tumble of fragments would lay face down on ground
and the gentle gradual cracking would reverb with sound

It’s as if the clay does not want to expose the beyond light,
trapping the empty in a peaceful continuum of night

But slowly very slowly does the clay give in to natures relentless drying
and the slices of light begin their path to rid the glass of clay and let normality play

MIND THE STEP from a shrinking corridor, made available by the lone looker leaning on peeling wall paper that tickles an exposed arm or leg or nervously waiting, lies down a head.

The door way to which not many note is imagined into life like a crack in the clay and I sit like the darkness, unknown by eyes who flicker through the mask of an open doorway inviting you to enter – why would anyone think they cannot.

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