The Weaver of Dreams
Reason is ground to dust.
Last weekend I stood in the churchyard at Stoke Gabriel.
I looked out over the land down to where the river kisses the banks.
The tree was overwhelming in its power.
The supports, humanly erected, had rotted with age
But the yew was braced with living power.
An old man spoke to me of an age of fifteen hundred years
But as I beheld the tree it murmured, "Much more".
On Sunday 1st April I will apply once more for membership of the Devon Guild of Craftsmen, submitting several ceramics. At this moment the college kiln is firing my most ambitious ceramic earthenware glazed wall dish. It will reach a firing temperature of 1040 degrees centigrade; tomorrow all will be revealed!
A letter from Bob arrived yesterday. I have been worried, for until it arrived I had no address to write to. I have written back already - a long letter. He invites me to stay there in London for some days. I reciprocate by inviting him here. I go one better by asking him to think about coming to live with me in the USA or Peru!! God only knows when, however.
The painting "Synaesthesia - The Weaver of Dreams" (6' x 5') is progressing well. The painting of the front room is once again in suspended animation. I feel that soon I will 'know' how to complete it.
Tonight on Radio Three there was a most interesting programme about Richard Dadd. I felt it frighteningly parallel to some of my thoughts. He feared his growing madness. Then went mad. So much for the stupid theory that madmen never realise they are mad!