Sometimes when I read the random questions that my blog host suggests first thing in the morning, I immediately know the question is not for me. Today is just such a one. But then it niggled at me as my coffee woke me up.
Describe one positive change you have made in your life.
Don’t we all make hundreds of tiny positive changes every day. Sometimes they add up to something fabulous which feels like a life changing moment. Quite often they add up to something fabulous but not what was expected. And sometimes despite all the positivity of intent some negativity slips into the process and everything in those moments feels a little out of control. Sub-optimal.
Is the size of the positive change the most important thing? Would anyone be interested in the hundreds of teeny tiny positive changes that happen in the course of one day.
This picture is an example of a teeny tiny positive change that occurred yesterday. The lighthouse mop could be dried in the sunshine and wind of yesterday’s weather. Probably for the first time in 6 months. A teeny tiny positive change that nobody noticed in the bigger picture.
Concatenation is a wonderful thing. Post proper job I have dabbled in admin and writing for Arts organisations and now in a strange twist of concatenation as a non-tennis player I do admin for a tennis club.
Not ‘just’ a tennis club but a coastal garden and Clubhouse that is available to host community events.
One such community is Rhizome Artists who meet once a week in the clubhouse. Rhizome are Exhibiting locally and the venue of the exhibition has a cafe that does great coffee and cake so a visit was the obvious thing to do.
So coffee, and cake but not concatenation were my anticipated outcomes of the visit.
Early on I met Tim who was taking some standard photographs of the whole exhibition. We had a small natter and he left. I enjoyed my coffee and cake and a lovely wide-ranging conversation with my gentleman companion. We then spent a lot of time enjoying the art, some of which is in the pictures below.
Yesterday we did one of our regular dog walks with the addition of a small granddaughter, who is new to walking with the dogs rather than being pushed. If the dogs can find a hundred different sniffs to slow our progress down. She added another level of procrastination to the experience. Touching the texture of every one of these bollards. There were 30 of them. Each one had a tiny set of fingers gently explore the rough surface.
Wake up and smell the coffee is one way to savour the moment.
Consider the bollards is a whole different level of mindfullness.
With high regard to safety the adults got plenty of time to ponder the meaning of life. And the dogs were more than happy to sniff and leave doggy messages.
Piss Patination
Humans and dogs got plenty of chance to consider this piece of bronze. A decade of dog pee gently arcing across the surface. Or this centuries old mooring bollard.
Its historically old cast-iron is being turned into a bark-like surface from seawater and dog pee. Maybe the last land bollard that Captain James Cook’s dog, Pugwash, pee’d on before setting off for Newfoundland or Australia and New Zealand.
I can’t say Storm Kathleen bothered us much . Just more wind and rain, no flying dustbins or lost umbrellas. She did however create this moody sunset from Down Thomas. If you look into the gloom you can just about see Plymouth Sound.
Enough of rain! I thought I would share some dry pictures.
In summer months a charity runs drystone walling classes nearby. There is enormous skill in creating these walls which are a feature of rural Devon and Cornwall.
Wet, from rain these sections have some eye-challenging colour combinations.
In the summer months, these walls still look impressive but they are dusty with red mud from the artisans hands, as the rocks are laid over an embankment of compacted soil. Just my lucky day to catch them in a rare sunny moment while they were still wet. The moment was brief
The raw materials waiting for summer and craftspeople to return.
For the header image I overlaid Storm Kathleen on the drystone wall.
Yesterday we attempted a big Hollywood style welcome for our granddaughter who was arriving home from France.
Everything was set up, we knew which window to wave at. We had tracked the ferry.
Everything was set.
And then we missed the moment by a moment.
You might think that a docked ferry suggests more than a moment, but from regular ferry watching I can assure you that sometimes it takes me longer to reverse my car into a parking space than for these ferries to nip backwards into the port. I am confident that we will be easily forgiven by an 18-month-old. But next year we really do have to get our ‘A’ game on. It is always the people who live closest that are late.
Kathleen arrives in these parts tomorrow. Only the second time since naming began that Britain has achieved a 16th-named storm. I only became fully engaged with storms when I took up regular sea swimming or ‘ bobbing’ as it is known in these parts. Living on a small peninsular has made me ‘tuned in’ to the weather in a way that I have never quite been before. I have recently, in the last couple of years taken to painting the sensation of the storm. This year I have been concentrating on printing so have missed out on all the storms since Agnes, in early October.
Storm Agnes- Private Collection
Until a storm arrives I never really know if it will take human form or be an abstract force.
But whichever sort of storm it is, my grubby ‘weather’ tin of colours is available.
Which brings me to today’s random question.
What job would you do for free?
Maybe I could be a storm P.R/ Artist. Give them some character before they arrive, elevate their good points and downplay their obnoxious behaviours. In fantasy land I could be flown to meet them when they first hit British land. Do a quick sketch in the way that notorious criminals are sketched in court*
Then rather than only being identified only by their trail of destruction, a storm could also present a more benign face to the world. People might be more motivated to forgive a storm that empties their dustbin in the street if the storm could be considered elegant or well-dressed. Quirky even.
* In British courts no photography is permitted. Special Court artists are employed by news agencies to depict the main characters in a trial for illustrating the events in court in print, television or digital media.There are four professional courtroom sketch artists in total: Priscilla Coleman, Siân Frances, Julia Quenzler and Elizabeth Cook. All four artists are self-taught.
A marvelous art blog exists called Making a Mark. Below is their article about Court Artists.
Isn’t it deliciously mad that such a career exists. Being a storm artist seems almost normal in comparison. But how long would I do it for free?
Maybe a nanosecond or forever, art is like that. There is nothing like the moment when somebody buys a piece or original art. In my head I flip and cartwheel like an Olympic gymnast. It is not the reason I create but goodness me it is a wonderful feeling when it happens.Storm artist, free until someone pays me!
I realise my * is in the wrong place, my blog my rules.
For anyone who loves great art writing, this Facebook page is the Make a Mark resource I discovered today.
Or indeed how to write a blog from a pile of ironing?
Yesterday and the day before were days of catching up after the long weekend. Largely insignificant tasks but in this Winter and Spring of interminable rainfall the ironing stood out as a glimmer of something different.
Long ago when sunshine was a thing and washing could be dried outside, a load of white table linen was dried and then put away unironed. I decided to get the job done while catching up on podcasts. The minute the steam of the iron hit the crispy linen all the natural fragrance of a summers day filled the room. Sea breezes and the smell of an English summer. A few seconds of a hot July replaced the dankness of our current April.
In other news, I attempted some Dartmoor walking yesterday. I was defeated by really slippery mud and mist. Not for me forlorn,damp ponies or stoic sheep. Just a quietly arriving ferry close to home.
Which of my communities should I improve? Or are they all better off without my tinkering?
All communities are improved with positive engagement. That is what I try to bring to any community I am part of. Sometimes I feel guilt that I am not doing enough but guilt is just fine in manageable doses. Resentment is the worm that destroys things. Now I am semi-retired I give resentment very little time, it is a sign I should step away. Not always possible when you are in the clutches of paid employment. When employed I used resentment as a rocket fuel to move me on, sometimes that move was more of a slow burn but at least I felt in control.
During a WhatsApp exchange this morning I called myself a nonfluencer. The exact opposite of the trendier, more sassy, flashy influencer that is the goal of so many people and communication technology currently.
Sometimes all a community needs is more nonfluencers, who turn up and do. Until they can’t. Joining and leaving can both be good for any community. Staying too long is the problem.
So how would I improve any community I was part of? Stay while I was able to be useful and recognise when the time is right to leave.
How have you adapted to the changes brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic?
Unbelievably pre- COVID-19, I would never, ever, have considered plunging into the sea here at least once a week. Plunging into the sea in all weather and conditions would never have crossed my pre-Covid mind. It has become almost a ritual and one that has more benefits than I could ever have imagined. For some inexplicable reason swimming in cold water has made me braver in other awkward or challenging situations. Rather a positive change that I am very grateful for.
The four days of the Easter Break, have slipped away. So much texture in four days. Most of it weather-related. Unlike Christmas there is not a big build-up nor enough left over food to sustain us for a few weeks. We were a small family gathering this year. Only four adults to indulge. Only four humans to dodge snow, torrential rain, and traffic to find the occasional sunbeam.
Sometimes the sunbeams were metaphorical. Dodging into a pub to avoid the rain and playing card games, or finding an unintentional embellished egg.
Family favourite food.
And the last Hot Cross Bun.
And for once, April Fools Day without getting caught by clever, witty friends.
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