every injured soul needs a silent hand to hold

This has actually been up for three weeks now, but I've been so busy the past few days. I needed some quiet.

This? Is that quiet place you seek. This is that still center point. This is a blur--of motion, of time, of decision.

Static.

In some places there are poses. In some places there are things to buy, things to look at.

There are a series of notes, each more or less in a spiral, walking outwards. They're small, and you can pick them up and take them with you.

I plan on scattering mine on a small isle I know...

I know I will need to come back again. I've been there twice, to that distant, vague space, suffused with white and grey. I'll need to return at least once more.

There are birds, there are boxes, there are clouds. There is mist. There are lit bricks along the pale path. There is industry and evaporation. There might be music.

There are two figures, standing in the haze. One carries the other. Are both looking up, or only one? It's hard to tell.

I stand behind them, peering through the cold, pale mist. I read the words, endlessly rotating, around the procession of figures.

Don't be afraid..

Okay.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery once said, "Perhaps love is the process of my leading you gently back to yourself." This is that space. This is that moment.

There is a tattoo for sale, on the ground, as all the items are, moments of slightly brighter color against the white. It says, Everything's going to be all right.

I bought it, even though I only wear one tattoo, and have nearly since I arrived on the grid. But it seemed important to own.

Everything's going to be all right. Yes. But right now...it's a blur.

Become part of Blur while it's here; you have until the 16th of August. Then remember it when it's gone. All good art touches us, and then departs, or we depart from it. This one, I have a feeling...will linger.