I’ve actually found a little time today and earlier on in the week to dust off my old paint brushes and pick up where I left off earlier this year with a series of abstract paintings. The joy of waiting so long between building up the stages of the paintings is that I can drastically change the whole appearance of the work.
By that I mean I’ve been cutting up a lot of what I’ve done and rearranging by weaving the designs together, creating checkboard patterns of various colours and textures… in theory… because in reality I really haven’t got a clue what I’m doing most of time, actually, all of the time. You see, I’m no artist, I don’t even pretend to be, I can’t draw and I simply mess around with paint, acrylics and watercolours.
I’m in love with texture and colours, patterns and shades. I adore various mediums and despite not having a clue what I’m supposed to be doing. I tend to make a glorious mess.
Among my passions I delight in visiting art galleries… just as music/novels/movies… I do not hold a singular genre in favour. Preferring to explore many known (and unknown) artists alike. Travelling to London and Liverpool to explore exhibitions. I’m inspired, though I lack any skill or talent. I paint, like I write (or sing) not because I’m any good, but because I simply love too…
Having no burning desire to be something I’m not really gives me the freedom to enjoy what I do for my own pleasure… if nothing else I’ve made a glorious mess and had fun doing so…
On 26.09.16 I reposted a short story on my blog, on Friday I wrote part 75, bringing current events to a comfortable (current) conclusion… With each post being between 300 – 500+ words… that’s a whole lotta words in 9 months… I fell in love with writing at university, yet at the same time the course also shifted my perspective on publishing. I decided that there was no way I could ever be a published author. So I decided a blog was the perfect outlet for my silly little tale, my outrageously terrible poetry and most of all, my blog became my safe haven, to express myself on matters such as overcoming depression to coping with watching my Mother slowly die… Here was my freedom of expression, where I didn’t need to delete posts because of trolls. My story is fantasy based, has Dragons… nope it’s not influenced by GoT (even if there is an eyeball scene) instead I’m heavily inspired my Michael Moorcock/Anne Rice… I don’t have a hero, my main protagonists were killed really early… oops… My next stage is to jump 14 years ahead… with possibly a few significant scenes before then to include… Ironically, I still personally prefer poetry, but I follow so many wonderful poetry blogs, my words are dumbed into silence. I think, I would like to use the space to explore my adventures, to put my experiences into words, but my characters won’t shut up and demand my attention. I’m taking a little rest from writing, I’m still staggered I’ve wrote so much in just 9 months… maybe this year I’ll actually achieve http://nanowrimo.org
All the wonderful thingies which inspire me to write and while writing…
Having a Coke with You
is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles
and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them
I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse
it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it
Take a little walk to the edge of town
and go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms,
like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires,
in the humming wires
Hey man, you know
you’re never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge,
past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm comes
a tall handsome man
in a dusty black coat with
a red right handHe’ll wrap you in his arms,
tell you that you’ve been a good boy
He’ll rekindle all the dreams
it took you a lifetime to destroy
He’ll reach deep into the hole,
heal your shrinking soul,
but there won’t be a single thing
that you can do
He’s a god, he’s a man,
he’s a ghost, he’s a guru
They’re whispering his name
through this disappearing land
But hidden in his coat
is a red right hand
You don’t have no money?
He’ll get you some
You don’t have no car?
He’ll get you one
You don’t have no self-respect,
you feel like an insect
Well don’t you worry buddy,
’cause here he comes
Through the ghettos and the barrio
and the bowery and the slum
A shadow is cast wherever he stands
Stacks of green paper in his
red right hand
You’ll see him in your nightmares,
you’ll see him in your dreams
He’ll appear out of nowhere but
he ain’t what he seems
You’ll see him in your head,
on the TV screen
And hey buddy, I’m warning
you to turn it off
He’s a ghost, he’s a god,
he’s a man, he’s a guru
You’re one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
Designed and directed by
his red right hand
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
So, basically, more music, vampires (again) music lyrics, poetry and art… What a delicious cocktail of inspiration… I’ve also kinda delighted in re-discovering Marina Abramovic again…
So, as something different from killing characters, I’m including a little of my work that I dedicated to her performance piece ‘rhythm 0’
I really should add vampires (maybe) I keep finding vampires inspiring me…
This is what the current working notes chaos mess is like, what I carry around in the black hole of my bag and add to bits when I’m waiting for a bus or otherwise randomly inspired.
Apologies – I write in pencil a lot – also there is a random spoiler somewhere in the scribbles, but you might not be able to decipher my dreadful handwriting and atrocious spelling… (Hopefully) …
… Sharing this and The Not-So Old Notes as a little oddity into my random writing process…
Finding scribbles of notes which never came to be…
… Discovered at the bottom of my bag while searching for a Theatre Tickets that I swore I printed off weeks ago, instead I discovered all these random musings…
Twas no fib when I wrote … ‘anticipation gripped those who witnessed the arrival of this force and even your humble narrator isn’t sure what she’s going to write next…’ at the end of Part 47, I don’t exactly know what I am going to write in Part 48 yet, I have about a dozen ideas, my thoughts regarding this ‘Notsoshortshortstory’ actually branches off 14 years into the future, but obviously that wont be in the next part and not all my ideas get scribbled down, typed up, remembered or develop beyond a dream. Basically I have No structure.
Now, I read a lot about the art of writing, I subscribe to various Blogs and Websites, The Wonderbook is a constant companion and I have drank up every word in On Writing and I’m utterly fascinated by The Story Seminar . One thing which pops up time and time again is ‘The Hero’s Journey’ which has been written about countless times, with various experts putting their personal twist upon this theme. It can be complicated, broken down into diddy fractions or simply Three Acts.
We covered it in class upon the creative writing course:
Many stories, many films, follow this journey of discovery for our (initially) unwilling Hero and his friends/foe. It is a tale that has followed us (mankind) throughout our history, from ancient Myths and Legends right through to Harry Potter. The Hero’s Journey is Mankind’s Journey, it may echo our own trials and tribulations through life, sometimes.
It is a concept which fascinates me as I (personally) can also relate this to The Fool’s Journey, which is the progress of the Fool through the Major Arcana in Tarot Cards.
The Fool is The Hero, Look at all these beautiful characters he meets upon his travels through the Major Arcana! How many character archetypes are hidden (in plain sight) in the Tarot? The Wise Man… Merlin, Gandalf, Dumbledore, Ben Kenobi … The Hermit.
We have our Kings and Queens, Magicians, Love, Death, Judgement, Strength… All the glorious concepts we also find in The Hero’s Journey… But my rumbling thoughts have taken a bizarre twist of their own and this is no longer what I wanted to write about when I started this blog, however, that’s just the way my mind works and I’ve got lost trying to follow the tangled threads of a messy thoughts. Instead I’ve given you something else to ponder over. I don’t expect I am the first person to relate these two concepts? I don’t know how I got onto the subject of the Tarot when I actually wanted to reflect upon the ‘Hero’ theme, but it fits, so I will just leave that there and slink back into my cave and rethink over what it is I wanted to write about…
Tatterhood 