My Poem

I dream of warmth.
The smell of it - the log burning stove.
The sense of it - warm love enveloping me.
A gale outside, but subdued orange-glowing warmth within.

A sense of belonging, and one of freedom.
Freedom to be tied down to my children,
tied to one place,
helping that home evolve.

I dream of being stood between beans,
early morning sun and a corridor of sunlit leaves
Harvesting and tending before the family wake.
The taste of a fresh pea, popped in my mouth.
The sugar, the sun, the green.

I dream of schlumpfing around, unladylike
wellies on foot
slippery underfoot
Arms stretched outward as though tightrope walking,
messing my way across the earth to catch that troublesome creature:
pig/duck/goat
wrestling to get it back to safety and dryness.
My being muddied from toe to head, on one side.
Rain sodden tendrils, a drip on my nose.

I dream of playing in the rain, our skin and hair dripping,
summer clothes soaked through
bursting into the warm, laughing at the afternoons endeavours,
a romantic sunny afternoon stroll?
Ill-prepared for the random shower we found ourselves in.

I dream of arguing furiously, knowing we wont hurt or bite.
Of the making-up and the expressing,
the giving and receiving of thoughts and beliefs.
Of understanding
and listening.

I dream of seeing the evening sky, the biggest evening sky
Staring it straight in the eye without looking up
No obstructions, no limit.
Of walking for miles to see our neighbour.

I dream of fields rolling away from my home
My house on the hill stood alone.
Fields for my children to run through
their arms outstretched like aeroplanes
Rosey cheeks and freckles
All smiles

I dream of being at the mercy of the elements
Right in the middle, experiencing it.
Not carrying on regardless in bubbles of cars or lifts.
Nor windowless offices.

I dream of my world being as nice as I believe,
the only nasties being in the shape of stormy weather
Or my fretting about him, up there on the roof
Repairing the tiles or the flashing
or fixing the pen in the storm.

I dream of being at one.
In my world.
In our world.
I dream of Life being my job.
I dream of sharing with you. My one.
Will you write or sing? Paint or think?
You'll do one at least.
Together we'll create.
Create art.Create thought.
Createlife.

White White White

Thursday night saw me surfing the web for inspiration. I wasn't entirely sure what I was looking for exactly - maybe other creative individuals to spur me on/make me think I'm normal, or maybe just works of beauty/general amazingness to spark my grey matter. Somehow though, I managed to log off completely uninspired and rather deflated about the whole thing. You see, I'd found so many unheardof's with ridiculous amounts of talent and passion, or just extremely prolific, all vastly different and (ordinarily) inspiring, yet my brain (having spent the evening watching "Affliction" - the most depressing film I've seen in some time) just digested it all and churned out the negative response of: What's the point?! Really, what IS the point in trying when there's an abundance of generally brilliant people and their work out there, with little credit, recognition or exposure? Who looks at this stuff? Where does it all go? - Stuffed timber-high in attics?
..Quite a contrast from the fluttery-tummy feel I walked away with after a whistle stop wander round Tate Modern just a week before.

Sooo anyhow, yesterday saw me fondling fabric and contemplating its possibilities. The idea in my mind when purchasing these goodies was merely for knocking up samples and generally faffing about with stitches. But as I draped them over eachother, needle and thread at my side, I fell in love with their complimentary tones (white and cream muslins, cream calico, white fabric anglaise), contrasting textures and the appeal of mashing them all together to produce a touchy-feely piece of kitsch loveliness.

Cue daydreaming during a Sunday morning lie-in, thinking all things white and internally arguing the for's and against's re 'Art' - whatever that is. The possibility that maybe I'm supposed to design (spaces? fabrics? feelings??) rather than pursue Fine Art..meaning, do things that have a point?

A point.

In that case then, as designing kettles is not how I see my future unfolding, what if I find a way to express my opinions visually? Giving the work/ideas a point. That should spur me on, surely? (and yes, I know artists have been managing to express opinions and portray issues through their work for...ever, but it's something that has always eluded me entirely *bless*) Opinions like..
*Housewife is a dirty word (which I thoroughly disagree with and personally feel has contributed to so so many massive changes for the worse regarding society and consumerism and crime and..I'll leave it there)
*Disaffected youth (erm, as above)
*Everybody now programmed to need fast Everything (- visual stimulation/information/message is required instantly. Bad, bad, bad!!)
*Traditions/traditional values lost (evoke or reactivate?)
*Capability/common sense/survival - lost (just complain about it, wholeheartedly)
*Ratrace/consumerism (and how I loathe it)
*No time to be still
*Grace and beauty lost. Timeless classics - any such thing anymore??


Sitting and pondering, letting ideas flash through my head produced the following ideas and questions and possibilites for exploration..
~Can I produce something that makes you be still for a moment? Something peaceful or hypnotic?
~A large scale piece in (comparatively) smallish space therefore the viewer is drawn in and consumed by it?
~White white white - drawn in by apparent lack of tone so have to search out detail?
~Washed out or over exposed (if photography) landscapes
~White white white- lack of contrast leads you to search for (and requires) texture. Viewer can absorb the whole 'space' (taken up by piece) in one instant..therefore, amazingly, becomes instant (as required by the attention defficient majority) yet has 'staying power' also.
~Lack of contrast is pleasing to my eyes due to Irlen Syndrome..
~~(I've always been drawn to shades of white/cream together, and been keen to master 'Whites'. Could this be why? The calming, soothing, subtle quietness? The simple beauty of it?)

I'm now daydreaming and thinking in shades of white. Of light, space, air and senses. Of large scale enveloping wonderfulness, small scale representations and everything in between. I'm even thinking of installations for the first time in my life. And I'm hoping this frame of mind doesn't dissipate.

Kernowtastic

Back to Cornwall again, but only a week this time..

Here's the view of Tate St Ives while lazing on Porthmeor beach (again). It's a little watercolour postcard - which survived Royal Mail *phew!*

The timing of my trip back down there was to see the final exhibition that I should have been in. It was wonderful to see how my peeps had progressed in a mere five months, and where they'd ended up.

It was a lovely experience right up until the end when three of my former college comrades were all in the studio at once. The comments about how well I looked now compared to when I left (due to that house mate debacle), added to feedback about my own work and talents, along with encouragement and "thank goodness you're going back to college, would be such a waste if not" etc... Well, slightly overwhelming to say the least. I fled in tears, embarassed by my apparent instability and totally confused by my reaction (I'd thought that I was now completely fine about it all).

Still, I'm glad I went. Very.

The camping and the sunny beachy part of the holiday are another story..