This is the view from my window, in the late afternoon: not just the cathedral but the sunset too. Never have I been so closely jammed up against a holy edifice; this is between me and god, with nature thrown in for good measure. The town of Visby is very cold, very quiet, and astonishingly beautiful. I came here partly out of curiosity, to see what would happen if, after many months of busy-ness, I got up in the morning with only a blank white page in front of me. The answer may be nothing. And I’m not knocking nothing, not at all. I have settled into a rhythm of sleep, coffee, long walks by the sea, saunas. I lie and sweat for long periods on the top bench in the sauna in the pose, it occurred to me yesterday, of Marat assassinated by Charlotte Corday.
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