tŷ bâch twt

(tŷ bâch twt is welsh for cubby house)

I had grand visions for what might have happened at the cubby house party, I envisioned walls made from sheets and cardboard, shadowpuppetry, sleeping on cushions and reading poems, drawing on paper and eating cookies with tiny cups of milk with tea, music and laughter.

When the sunday rolled round and it was time to play I was overwhelmed with the concept of moving house and the mess and boxes reading for packing and all I wanted was a desert. All I wanted was a desert. I wanted nothing in the room. I wanted nothing.

But my most beloveds came ready to play, and it was a beautiful thing to see. People pulled sheets from their neat stacks and hung ties and strings from the rafters, turned chairs and lounges upsidedown, and created a world of shadows and dreams. There were whispers and soundscapes and a subtle feeling of the end.

This grew into an uncomfortable feeling, and a desire for ones own home. There was a feeling of loss and displacement in the air, and a craving for a sense of home. By 10 o'clock everyone had left and gone home. It was a strange party, but as a conceptual art piece it couldn't have been more perfect, and a perfect end to a long artists residency in the warehouse.

It was as if I was moving my friends out, and the space needed to change before I could let go and actually engage with the task of physically moving my belongings out of the house.

I left the house and walked into the street and into the night with a great sense of release in my body.