Fair Play

“Forget it,” said Jonna. “Forget it. Don’t grieve for a net, grieve for everything else that’s broken and can’t ever be mended. Your uncle liked making nets; it was what he knew, it was calming and familiar. Going into that loft you’ve talked about. I’m sure it helped him shut everything out, and everyone. He wasn’t thinking about fish, not a bit, and not about you getting the net as a present. He was just at peace, doing work that was his and only his.

Expect something philosophically calm – and something discreetly radical.

But the cemeteries at home are much prettier, and you don’t visit them.”
“No,” Mari said, “those are just people we know. These are more distant.”

“you know, I think more about a film you’ve shown me than I do about all my worries, I mean all the things I’ve got to do and all the dumb things I’ve ever

done… It’s sort of like your movies freed me from myself. I mean, of course it’s still me, but I’m not my own responsibility.”

There should be an element of surprise when people’s eyes move across a wall covered with pictures. We don’t want to make it too easy for them.

must be respected – those often long periods when a person can’t see the pictures or find the words and needs to be left alone.

They never asked, “Were you able to work today?” Maybe they had, twenty or thirty years earlier, but they’d gradually learned not to. There are empty spaces that

Before Jonna could do her graphic work in peace, she always spent some time printing up sets of ear

lier, neglected works – a job that had been set aside so she could focus on new ideas. After all, a period of creative grace can be short. Suddenly, and without warning, the pictures disappear, or they’re chased away by some interference – someone or something that irretrievably cuts off the fragile desire to capture an observation, an insight.