D R A W I N G L I N E S
OUT 17.11.23
Written by Katie Whitehouse
PRE ORDER HERE
Produced: Dan Whitehouse
Additional production: Chris Pepper / Gustaf Ljunggren
Recorded Autumn 2022: The Birdcage, Dudley | Saltwell Studios, Cambridge | Small World Studio, Copenhagen
Mixed & Mastered: John Elliott
P+C Katie Whitehouse 2023
Want To Know
WTK007
Spaces
A song about unconditional love.
PRE SAVE HERE
Piano & Vocal Katie Whitehouse
Pedal Steel Gustaf Ljunggren
Written by Katie Whitehouse
Produced by Dan Whitehouse
Additional production by Chris Pepper & Gustaf Ljunggren
Recorded in The Birdcage, Dudley, Saltwell Studios, Cambridge, & A Small World, Copenhagen in Autumn 2022
Reed beds Photography by Sophie Gould
Cover Photo by Katie Whitehouse
A/w LeftBridge
Mixed & Mastered by John Elliott
P+C Katie Whitehouse 2023
Want To Know
WTK007
The perfect circle of the ‘everyday’
arches up, over and around
so light can eternally meet
the join of dark.
The empty glass fills
and empties
with unnerving constancy.
There is a rhythm beyond us,
behind us and far ahead.
A calm conductor
points their baton
poking measure into the corners
of each section of the overture of time,
freeing tiny silver triangles from
forwards momentum
of hours, minutes and seconds.
I go here to dig beneath the surface,
spending time raking around in those shapes,
aware of the sound of metal on tarmac.
Because this is where the magic lies.
I always know it when I see it.
I soon stand, pockets bursting with stars,
stretching to look up at the sky.
© Katie Whitehouse 2021
(A New Year’s Day poem)
It takes a while for her ego to catch up with her energy
which had flown ahead
eager
She ventures another three careful steps towards the water
bare feet finding a new hold
toes feel the familiar edge of smooth worn wood on the pontoon
some of yesterday still pooling in the ridges
Toes spread, tendons taut
legs strong, arms ready
chest open, fingers stretched out
she’s reaching into the day
Her shadow drags behind
like a reluctant toddler
tugging at her wrist
Hesitating for a moment
her breath is visible in the morning air
as birdsong rises in fresh welcome of this dawn.
December’s final moon
traces a long, cold silvery finger
slowly down her back
A parting gesture
as the sun begins to breathe colour
into the clouds’ early greys
1, 2, 3 she jumps
and a muster of crows lifts as one with her from the ancient oak, on the opposite bank
the flap of their wings is the last thing she hears
before her head plunges among bubbles under the clear water
With January’s baptism she resurfaces
Katie Whitehouse
Tapping into a deep seam where a clear river runs underground, I open my palms and stare at them.
The liquid within my flesh is the same as the current beneath. We are all water. We are all the blood of life. My bones are the pressed dust of minerals, thousands of years old – gathered in and shaped by arms wiser than these two wayward limbs.
My upturned palms reveal more than skin. Lines of life, head and heart map out a journey beyond the physical.
#walkintotheday#riverdart#morningpages#dreamwriting