Club Activities Board

“Heather Rocks” scheduled for renovation

“I love,” writes Golf Widow Suzanne Daniels to the Founder, “how you use ‘golfer Walter Mitty’ to have a narrator transform any situation/object into a reverie of golf. If most pieces take this form, using this conceit, the site will resemble a genre of literature in installments; here, with readers anticipating the next clever analogy/metaphor and subsequent armchair adventure in golf…The narration should incorporate more specific observations, such as commentators make on-air, while the shot is being set up. This makes the ‘course’ itself, and narrative, more credible, showing the narrator’s passion – nearing obsession – that is capable of making these transformations of objects/landscapes for the reader…We are losing that daydream-quality of discovery as you traverse the shapes, curves, etc. Try to stay mostly in discovery mode, balanced with embellishment/detail too…You are losing the slow, contemplative pace that builds as reverie takes hold of the object and transforms/translates it to other scales, occupying/transporting to other spaces. I recommend rereading Bachelard on the miniature…It would be nicer to feel the subject of scale, and sense of scale, treated so you and/or companions really enter scales of these ‘courses’…You need more movement. In conception of altering use of space, think of Calvino’s cities that exist as series of pipelines, or as hanging structures. What would it be like to play a hole upside down, etc.? What might it mean philosophically (and spiritually, aesthetically, practically) to be confronted with a course of fairways emanating like spokes of a mandala, from a circular center? How to think about the concept of center? Missing a lot of opportunities here to traverse and transform the object, to redefine/trace/translate. Attempts to present holes leave out conception of a whole, articulating parts within…Better to end with an abrupt action that cuts, dispels reverie, scattering attention: maybe the jewelry box slams shut, as all pieces run together in a glittering pile – then – nothing – gone.”