At the entrance to a large industrial building, Natascha and Naomi were making lists hurriedly, as groups of people were coming in thick and fast. Natascha was sat at a low unstable table with paper in front of her, and her computer open, full of lists. Her former teacher Anne, had her head down so that the grey-black crown of her blond hair could be seen and was checking the people that were coming quickly-up to the desk with their materials and instruments in their arms. People were bustling past our small desk, setting up their equipment and milling around. Naomi, was a Japanese woman with a determined and self-assured look in her eyes,
“I´m just going to have a quick look around”
“Sure” Natascha nodded
Naomi hopped on her bike and casually snaked it round people who still had their macs and coats on having just put down their equipment. Already people were striking up conversations, holding cups of coffee and tea, fully engaged in each other`s thoughts. Old friends spotted each other and connected. Others found each other through simple questions and light but real conversation. Cycling around there was plenty of space, but it was filling up with people fast and the low hum of conversation was getting louder. Cycling back to the small make-shift table at the front, Naomi put her hand on Natascha`s shoulder
“It`s looking good”.
“I´m taking a break” Natascha said relieved and excited.
Looking back at the lists, Naomi nodded and sat down in front of them and lifted her head to the next group of artists that were already waiting.
Natascha walked away from the industrial site, into the undergrowth and through dense trees, down to where Alessandro and two other girls were in large expansive garden at the back of a tall empty house. They were playing badminton between the three of them. A white wall stood tall behind them, as Natascha leaned back into the bamboo wicker-chair she pondered on how that could be used as a place to graffiti. Alessandro was looking at her curiously.
The wicker chair was hanging from a long rope that led to the top of the hill. It was oval and with a deep basin-shaped seat that allowed her to completely sink back into the orange cushion that gave her the sense of humble comfort she had been longing for. Identical wicker chairs were above and below her, on the opposite rope there were more seats going back downwards to the garden. Their orange cushions nestled alone without anyone sat upon them-yet. It wouldn`t be long before all these would be full, Natascha thought. Full of contented people, going back and forth between contemplation and creative practice.