Here’s Ash, on the right, and Cypress standing under the shadow of the Phoenix after a good day of brazing feathers for its tail and wings.
The Storyfield – and the Space Between
BK Loren, a published author and long-time writing teacher, stopped by on her hi-tech bicycle a month or so back and offered to give the WSF team a free writing class. Wow! What a gift! Her syllabus had us swapping grinders and welders for pencils and notepads as we pressed words out of our imaginations onto the page. Thanks for your challenging writing prompts!
Ash Wallis, a US Army veteran, was itching to write but didn’t think she could. But what she wrote was really beautiful. Thanks Ash for taking the risk to let your words fly! Please give it a read below.
The Storyfield – and the Space Between
It was the smell of burning metal and dirt that forgave me.
It gave me permission.
It allowed me to make mistakes, encouraged me to fuck up and try again. To show up, to go away to rest and heal and be messy – an open invitation to hold space on days I could be present and exist in its embrace, welcoming and kind.
I was able to lose myself in meditation, watching metals heat, melt, and move. The glowing orange created by the torch a sunset on a steel feather, a blue flame broadening the path forward for a pool of braze. I find myself hypnotized, the fire leading the way for the golden bead to carve its way across my canvas.
A crackle, a spark, the hiss of water quenching the beaten, brazed, and beautiful—a symphony of heat and emotion.
So many hands have touched each piece as the two sculptures came together for over a decade, these massive beasts with teeth and talons welded steel together with memories, anger, shame, guilt, solidarity, and healing.
The weight carried by these structures is more than metal.
But heavier still is the space between. For the person standing in that space, it could be a vortex of emotions, tense and thrumming, or it could be a peaceful embrace. The light and dark would rise and fall, rolling through you like an aurora, depending on the hour – or the moment.
The space between flows like water to under the oak, sunlight spilling through the leaves while they sing an ambient lullaby to those sitting beneath the tree’s shade.
It bears witness, it holds us, and it invites us to let go.
by Ash Wallis
June 16, 2024
