Mor Kadishzon, July 2019

Klein Warnow, a corner in the world. A corner of light created by two dreamers, for other dreamers. A place to think, a place to be. Without expectation that channel you to places you do not intend to reach, expectations from yourself. Just support, a frame work, being. The demand: to dream, to think, to create. The possibilities: to be. the gift: you yourself. The bonus: the world. Aren’t we creating art because we love the world? In order to tell its beauty? Klein Warnow is a place where two people are shining love to the world. Allowing beauty to be seeing, to be.
I came here thanks to the wind of the beehive, to the generosity of the universe. I write a book about the connection between humans and bees, to them I feel committed. I think they can teach us a lot about ourselves. I am lucky to realize the gift of time-place-continuing writing, when I arrive all is ready in my head. Just to sit and write.
All the research I made in the months before, collecting thoughts and material, are ripe and got into the table.
An Aztec carpet waiting for me in the writing room, how did they know? The text and pictures are scattered on the table by subject. My routine: I wake up in the morning, with a clock, a few stretching and I seat by the table to drink a cup of tea. Time expands and turn into something else. Sometimes 16-17 hours of continuing writing.
Is today is yesterday or tomorrow? The first thought of the morning is continuing , like in the same sentence until the last thought before falling a sleep. One thread of line, continues, getting deeper.
Sharon understand , without explanations my cocooning into the room, into the thoughts. Siena my neighboring artist in residence dreaming also about poetic spaces.
How come both of us are reading “The Poetic of the Space” by Bachelard?
When its time to peep out into the world, already several morning writing hours have gone. By the side of the rail ways waiting the colorful snails. Colors and patterns. Some I recognize from yesterday. There is one , specially naughty that likes to get all covered with mud. Two others prefer the dry leaves. I seat beside them, waiting for the train to pass by. It will come soon. In this corner of the world, that is saturated with deep tranquility, the trains pass to break the air, they blow movement from the world outside. They come from there to here, and continue toward somewhere. They are fast, each with its own significant sound. Lucky there is a world. The trains carry the thoughts forward, and the snails stick to their own time dimension. I get out of my beloved room to meet the snails and the trains. To breath duality of time and movement. be barely twenty meters away from my corner, that is all I need right now, my room and my staring corner.
I write about bees, but the microcosmic with its endless appearance is calling me from every corner. The silent and the beauty and the journey whales that pass on the rails, bringing with them a special kind of inspiration, and ideas are purring out.
Around me other dreamers and creators, it always add to the inspiration,
The silent of the alone emphasis the living lines of everything. I miss home, miss the girls, but the present of time-space-quiet of writing overcome the longing. I will get back home. Meanwhile I will send another photo to the girls, a selfie a day, As promised.

***
I don’t speak German , but French is common to me. During this wonderful month I notice that many time I got confused and called “Klein Warnow” – Claire Warnow. Kind of “frenching” sometimes by mistake and sometimes deliberately. Just as I went back home, I understood, each joke has a seed of truth, Warnow is not small (klein), it is enlighted and enlighting.

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