Crafting project complete!

Dear,/Hello? is a project born out of a desire for direct engagement with other people’s work. I want to create a dialogue, or at least to catalogue, my responses to art.
Sounds wanky – it’s not meant to be. I just want a place to put all the things I think and feel when I respond to something.
Often there’s a strange disjuncture when I see a movie, or a play, or an exhibition, or read something – I want to tell the maker what I think but either they are not present, or it is difficult to have an in-depth discussion with them about their work at the opening/space/whatever – and besides, who is this strange woman telling you all the things she thinks about your work anyway?
Letters allow you to reach out from some relative cover of anonymity and the distance is enough to allow some depth, to say the things that would sound weird in person.
Although I may very well go ahead and break them, these are the suggested guidelines I’ve given myself to get the ball rolling:
The aim is to encourage dialogue between the viewer and the artists.
Responses could be:
In short, I want to keep a record of my responses, and send them on to the makers. To thank them, or challenge them, or build upon what I think they’re getting at. Some kind of reaching, tiny little hands bridging the gap between the viewer and the creator. Whatever this is or may be…let it begin!
One of the things I do in my time outside of uni and work is edit and provide feedback for poetry submissions at Voiceworks Magazine. I also manage our blog, Virgule and put up weekly Friday Writing Exercises. Here’s the latest one…
Stuck? Try finding some inspirimages – the internet is full of them!
This exercise was inspired by Visible Ink Mag‘s fantastic Sunday Writing Prompt.
You could also use the prompt below to get you started. Then send us what you come up with! We’d love to take a look…
All I can think is that the boss won’t be happy when I place a wet, disintegrating mess of financial report on her desk. Her desk – her desk that must also be subsumed in water. Her entire office, bursting at the seams with cool, fresh water. Washing out the stink of grubby carpet, disinfectant and orange peels. I wonder if she’s tall enough to still have her head above water. It’s getting pretty high now. The printers and computers are submerged. I can’t make her another copy, so this is going to have to be it. She’s wearing heels today. Lucky. Her head strains above the flow of water. I think she must be standing on something else too. I hand her the report. She smiles. It’s strained. I’m glad, today, to be a little taller than average. I stride, as much as one can stride through such a thick body of water, I look through the refraction at my desk. My mouse is floating. I bow my head, dip my tongue into the water and taste it. So sweet. Clear. I gulp it down, roll my cheeks in it. Dive in. Swim right out the door, and don’t look back.