Nobody can order these feathers

From wild order to human order: in making one small impermasculpture I have learned an enormous lesson of my own purpose.

The hunted gives their life to the hunter and in doing so gives of themselves to the world. The hunter took out each feather from the carcass for the wild, precise purpose of sustenance, rejecting what is not needed and keeping what is. On the sodden ground a bunch of seemingly chaotically tumbled feathers lay in disarray. I picked them up one by one and placed them in a wheel, quills facing inward and the wet strung-out feathers facing outward. On that in the centre I placed a bright lichen and a softly rotten acorn; too old to germinate, it too lost its chance of life and is slowly returning to the land.

By making order from seeming disorder I could have missed the truth of the story: what is wild is not chaos. What is wild is the REAL truth that my impermasculpture is pretending at. By touching the artistic I opened to the message of the feathers and the true meaning of my life. Who is trying to tame this wildness in me? Who is not seeing the meaning to my tumbled feathers?

I do not offer structure and plans. I do not offer systems nor do I offer theory. I bring you to your wild edges, of tumbled and sodden feathers lying meaningfully in disarray and I bring the entirety of the Earth to your heart. The feathers were part of a story that began days, weeks, months, years and eons before (perhaps so far back as to share a cousin with me) and still are telling that story.

I bring you Earth because the Earth is bringing Herself.

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