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…
Compliments are a pleasant surprise, I am humbled when I get a lovely message from someone saying how much they have enjoyed reading my work. It doesn’t happen very often and I don’t fish for comments. I just write because I love to write. I already know that it is far from perfect and it’s not destined to be anything more than scribbles on a blog. Because I write for fun, not for fortune, not for fame.
I have a little following here, which is very comfortable, these are my invisible audience, my friends, those I address freely without fear of judgement, for this is my safe haven, my corner of the internet where I can discuss personal thoughts along side fiction and if you’re really unlucky, my dreadful poetry.
Thankfully I have had some lovely comments from friends and strangers alike, which encourage my words, I’m inspired to write and my silly little story flows freely from my mind to the screen, my fingers carefully finding the right letters on the keyboard to create the words I’m thinking… It’s all a weird kinda magic if you think about it…
I wonder how far my words travel, I wonder what inspired people to follow my blog, I wonder a lot… I know that there are countless other writers out there in cyberspace, all seeking an audience, most far superior to my own humble attempts. I read plenty of other blogs with sincere admiration this casts doubt upon my own wild hieroglyphics. I badly need to edit, yet because I write straight from my thoughts, the whole editing process kinda gets sorely neglected. I am wordy, overly wordy, but inspired by Lovecraft (among others) I adore collecting beautiful rolling words and long expressive sentences. The words are there to be used after all..
My Self Doubt is born from a fear of judgement, it follows me throughout various aspects of my life (a significant example is my weight) my self doubt craves approval and security, pacified self doubt is transformed into peace of mind and all this can be turned around by a few kind words… there is so much power in words, they can destroy or they can elate.
I think it’s important to be kind with words to others, for you never know what is hidden under the surface and how the right words might just clear their own clouds of self doubt and ignite smiles…
Maybe one day I’ll face the dreaded editing? There again, maybe that’s not my ultimate goal and I shouldn’t worry so much over what I wonder?
A few ponderings over my lunch-break today to share with you.
As a child, my first experience of being humiliated and disillusioned was a painful experience at Sir Jonathan North. I was deeply passionate about history, I wanted to study history and either be a historian, librarian or work in a museum. That was my goal, my fascination with ancient cultures… Especially the Romans, meant that I had collected a fine display of Roman pottery and coins. When we covered this era in history class, I was beyond excited and chose to take my collection to class to share in a ‘show and tell’…
Well that was a disaster, my class ‘friends’ mocked my collection… Calling the whole thing a waste of time and boring etc…
My bubble was burst, I was disheartened and at that point neglected my life goals, feeling humiliation and bullied…
My passion became a dirty secret, I lost a lot of the pottery (because it reminded me of being bullied) but somewhere in my heart the ancient Romans refused to let go of my interest…
So when the chance arose to visit the dig site in Leicester last weekend, I couldn’t resist, waiting an hour in drizzle and cold with hundreds of others, for a glimpse of Roman Leicester awoken some of my passion, but also a fair deal of humiliation.
However it has thrown into light an interesting concept in my mind, how one painful experience changed the whole direction of my life, because I was bullied for something I loved… Had I not took comments so personally, had I shrugged off such negative attitudes, would I have never been bullied for so long?
Had I just ignored them, would I have followed my dream, fulfilled my goals and become an academic? How different could my life had been had I reacted differently to one singular event?
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
I have so many ideas brimming around the corners of my mind, haunting my dreams, characters knocking at the door of creation demanding life. Yet my time at the keyboard has been limited by real life adventures around the country and beyond off to foreign wilderness, ever inspiring my frantic mind, fueling my desire to write despite my inability to do so.
I have notebook and pen packed with me, I have freedom to scribble notes and pour forth my dreams onto paper. The next six scenes have already been played out, yet by the time I get to kill my darlings, I know the plot could change. That is why I love the freedom of writing without thought, to allow my hands to direct the course of action.
I have visited some incredible places and the list of locations before me is even more impressive, I am nervous, I am excited, I hold anticipation barely in check and I know that inspiration will follow me like a bouncy puppy, jumping up always needing attention.
I see inspiration in art, in buildings, in scenery, in the people I meet, the people I pass, in my dreams, in literature, in starring out the window absently watching the world pass me by. Words flow into my brain, cram my thoughts with ideas… I might need a bigger notebook.
I should like to write about my travels too, if my characters ever let me, and I can try if I find WiFi… For now, I must return to work… Even that I can find inspiring!
I will try to write Part 70 at lunchtime, it’s a lovely number to leave you on until I return full of words and slim of wallet…
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…
I had a dip, you might have noticed in some earlier thoughts I shared, mainly regarding losing my Mother and being reminded of this by the fact that my Parents Wedding Anniversary and Mothers Day being within three days of each other.
My Blog is my safe little corner of this cyber world, here I have always felt safe to express myself and write more than I could ever say in person and I write only a fraction of what I would like to say.
Having this space has given me the ability to work through my emotions and safely express myself, no one is forced to read my words and no one is obliged to reply, which places me in a comfortable situation. My life is interwoven with my ongoing ‘Not-so-short-short-story’ and I can find some measure of peace of mind.
A fellow Blogger recently sent me these precious words of wisdom:
So I started to write, and write I did… It took me three days to write the following notes and even though I know I am not an expert in such thingies, you need to understand that I wrote these words for me… I know that sounds selfish, yet at the same time, I am sharing them… Because maybe, only maybe, they just might resonate to someone else out there in cyberspace…
*Dedicated to all those who find themselves lingering on the ledge*
Tatterhood 