theoldmortuary has been a blog for about five years. It has evolved into an almost daily event. Pondering on the things that are inspired by my daily life. Often mundane, sometimes repetitive I swerve from hyperlocal activity to big and small thoughts without blinking an eye. I am an artist and writer. My hometown is Plymouth in South West England, part of me will always be connected to London and another part loves to travel.
I do remember life before the internet. If I were to live to age 80 my life would be roughly 50/50 pre and post domestic internet use. Because the change is within my adult lived experience I feel comfortable with and understand the differences. Information and services as a commodity are delivered to me without having to leave my bed. In the pre internet era I would have needed to move a bit to turn on a radio or television. Before that I would have needed, at the very least to go to the door and pick up a newspaper that had been delivered to my door.
I have always been a nerdy person with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and information, not in a focused kind of way. Random knowledge of no particular use is one of my specialist subjects.
I used to spend a lot of time in Reference Libraries, looking things up and following trails of information that may or may not have been of any practical use to me. Not something I could do every day. I was an early ‘ Rabbit Holer’ before rabbit holing became a thing. I don’t recall the last time I went into a reference library outside of University studies.
For most things I believe I could easily manage back in an analogue world, but quenching a random need to know more about something, quickly, would be something I would really miss. Back to the Reference Library for me, but maybe I am so hooked on rabbit holes now I would be in there every day.
Once a month a craft and food market sets up on the route of our morning dog walk. In good weather on a large grassy square and in bad weather in disused buildings. Either location gives the market a buzzy lively feel. Yesterday was market day and we set off on our usual dog walk with the added quest for Fig and Fennel Sourdough. Both were achieved alongside a bit of nattering to neighbours and fellow dog walkers. Our afternoon dog walk took in a quick visit to the JMW Turner exhibition that I am involved in.
Also quite a buzzy feel and plenty of people to chat to, just no hunt for an obscure flavour of sourdough.
A good Sunday,I think. Even if my mind is popping with all the images and nattering.
Good morning June. You are most welcome, but oh how I love May. I never want May to finish but since that is inevitable it is exceedingly good that after just a simple night’s sleep I have transitioned into June.
In other news I have gained access to both my Pinterest and Flickr accounts. Both set up decades ago when digital photography was young and I was uncertain where to store my work and keen to learn how other people used the new technology. But I can be nostalgic on another day.
Here is an earworm for the first day of June.
And while that worm is a squirmin’ here are the lyrics.
June Is Bustin’ Out All Over
Lyrics By Oscar Hammerstein II Music By Richard Rodgers
Nettie Fowler prepares for the clambake while restless fisherman and hungry New Englanders anticipate a hearty summer feast just across the bay. As the weather warms, everyone’s feeling a bit frisky.
“June Is Bustin’ Out All Over” Lyrics
Nettie: March went out like a lion, A-whippin’ up the water in the bay. Then April cried And stepped aside, And along come pretty little May! May was full of promises, But she didn’t keep ’em quick enough fer some, And a crowd of Doubtin’ Thomases Was predictin’ that the summer’d never come.
Men: But it’s comin’, by gum! Y’ken feel it come, Y’ken feel it in yer heart, Y’ken see it in the ground!
Girls: Y’ken hear it in the trees, Y’ken smell it in the breeze—
All: Look around, look around, look around!
Nettie: June is bustin’ out all over! All over the meadow and the hill, Buds’re bustin’ outa bushes, And the rompin’ river pushes Ev’ry little wheel that wheels beside a mill.
All: June is bustin’ out all over!
Nettie: The feelin’ is gettin’ so intense That the young Virginia creepers Hev been huggin’ the bejeepers Outa all the mornin’-glories on the fence.
Because it’s June!
Men: June—June—June—
All: Jest because it’s June—June—June!
Nettie: Fresh and alive and gay and young, June is a love song, sweetly sung.
All: June is bustin’ out all over!
1st Man: The saplin’s are bustin’ out with sap!
1st Girl: Love he’s found my brother, Junior!
2nd Man: And my sister’s even lunier!
2nd Girl: And my ma is gettin’ kittenish with Pap!
All: June is bustin’ out all over!
Nettie: To ladies the men are payin’ court. Lotsa ships are kept at anchor Jest because the captains hanker Fer a comfort they ken only get in port!
All: Because it’s June! June—June—June— Jest because it’s June—June—June!
Nettie: June makes the bay look bright and new, Sails gleamin’ white on sunlit blue.
Carrie: June is bustin’ out all over! The ocean is full of Jacks and Jills. With her little tail a-swishin’ Ev’ry lady fish is wishin’ That a male would come and grab her by the gills!
All: June is bustin’ out all over!
Nettie: The sheep aren’t sleepin’ any more. All the rams that chase the ewe sheep Are determined there’ll be new sheep, And the ewe sheep aren’t even keepin’ score!
All: On accounta it’s June! June—June—June— Jest because it’s June—June—June!
Nettie: June is bustin’ out all over, The beaches are crowded ev’ry night. From Penobscot to Augusty All the boys are feelin’ lusty, And the girls ain’t even puttin’ up a fight.
All: Because it’s June! June—June—June— Jest because it’s June—June—June!
Nettie: June is bustin’ out all over!
All: The flowers are bustin’ from their seed!
Nettie: And the pleasant life of Riley That is spoken of so highly Is the life that ev’rybody wants to lead!
All: Because it’s June! June—June—June— Jest because it’s June—June—June!
It has been an arty kind of week getting ready to deliver art to Cotehele for the Turner Exhibition.
I hit the opposite of a ‘Sweet Spot’ on Wednesday.
I suppose the opposite of a sweet spot is a sour spot but that feels rather negative. But the spot, whatever it is called, where things need to be done but it is not possible, quite then, to do them.
I was at a point on Tuesday when everything was done for the Friday hand in, but my Giclee prints and cards were not due back from the printer until Wednesday at close of business. They would need packing, framing and mounting.
So rather than faff about I took myself off to a different art exhibition to meet some friends. Both friends in the real world, huggy kind of way, and friends meaning viewing other friends work that has been accepted for the exhibition at Delamore.
I am still processing all I saw and all that four of us talked about but it really was the most delicious combination of 2D and 3D art in a gorgeous setting.
I suppose visiting a completely different sort of exhibition rinsed my mind of the mundane tasks ahead that would need to be completed on Thursday.
Lola finding mundane tasks a bit of a bore.
They were achieved.
Not exactly without a hiccough though.
Two paintings were not as finished as I thought they were and a late substitution was considered ‘ unprofessional’ * and rejected.
So this little chap sailed home with me again. So maybe I did find a ‘Sour spot’ after all.
The painting is not unprofessional but me making a late substitution was apparently so despite emailing ahead of time. But you know you are on a loser when the same person barks “You’re late “
I handed my work in and made a tactical withdrawal to the gardens. Life is too short for such things.
Friends are like flowers in a late Spring flowerbed. They are all unique and are perfect in their own ways and in their own time. Some are fleeting and others are perennial. I would find it hard to pick out a single quality that they have in common, but as an ensemble they are a fabulous bunch. Friendships, like these flowers all change over time but as long as we can all still get along does that even matter?
The return of rust. About 7 years ago I had a trauma with an iPhone. It had been a little cranky for a few weeks, but turning it off and on always chased the gremlins out. Then one day, in a Marks and Spencer Food Hall, it died a sudden death. There was no resuscitating it.
I replaced it with a Huawei because of the excellent camera. When it was time for a next planned upgrade I moved away from Huawei because of the Google ban and am currently using a Google phone.
Somehow in the iPhone to Huawai to Google swap I lost access to my Pinterest and Flickr accounts. I still used those apps but only as a guest and never bothered to log in again. My use of them both lessened, and I didn’t particularly miss them.
Yesterday an email from Pinterest prompted me to re- activate my account. It was like stumbling across a lost handbag before the digital age when handbags* were much more of a thing. I could not believe the stuff/images I found there.
Collected images and ideas for the rebuild and refurbishment of the actual Old Mortuary. All sorts of interests from my personal pre-Covid era. How did I even survive the Covid era without dipping into Pinterest?
Things have changed whilst I was away. My interests have changed. I deleted most of the boards and most of the images I had saved. It would be exactly the same if I found an actual old handbag. But my inspiration board was worthy of keeping, and my collection of rust images.
Reconnecting with Pinterest is like having an old friend move back into my life. It probably won’t occupy exactly the same space in my creative processes but the app will be a very welcome source of alternative ideas. Although I am never likely to return to the days of an over-spilling handbag…
Rusty pipe. Delamore
Yesterday I found this cranky old pipe which had previously served a Victorian greenhouse. The pipe was a gorgeous combination of metal and insulation materials. These images will be added to my Pinterest, Rust and Verdigris Board sometime soon, as will this blog which can be linked to my Pinterest account. Ooooh the changes over 7 years.
* Handbags. In my previous medical imaging life, a well filled handbag could be a useful test tool if the machines were not quite working properly. Handbags are a great example of soft tissue and metallic objects. Nearly always easier to find than the ‘phantom’ human that cost thousands of pounds and was always stored, or not, in a cupboard very far away.
X-raying or CT scanning a handbag was also a really useful skillset when precious things were accidentally thrown away in the surgical or infected waste bins or bags.
When I worked in an extremely posh part of London, a doctor’s expensive vintage Rolex was missing at the end of a case. He believed he had left it in the scrub room before the emergency case. Opportunistic theft was the only obvious scenario. Which made the whole team feel very uncomfortable. The item was of such value the police would have to have been called. Picking through a night’s worth of surgical or infected waste would not have been a great experience for anyone but x-raying every bag or box would reduce the number of bags needed to be searched. The watch, ironically true to its Submariner name had been taken off very early in the proceedings and put safely in a small plastic pot below the trolley. In the aftermath clear up of a very difficult and bloody case the small pot had become covered by other things. Just like a submarine it had taken a dive to the bottom of a yellow waste bag destined for an incinerator. No member of the team was a thief, no police needed. Just the random skill of knowing how best to x-ray a handbag. Why did I not photograph that x-ray, that moment of victory…
Yesterday I was back to winter habits, dog walking in the rain and trying to guess the moments when I would get less wet. I am a very poor predictor of rainfall and was drenched on three occasions. The most memorable when we were in the Memorial Garden of a local park.
Colour drenched
I wish Memorial Gardens would attach QR codes to the memorial plaques. The chosen biography of unknown people would be so much more enjoyable than just their name and dates of birth, and death. Why were these people loved so greatly and missed by so many?
People are so much more than the ash that feeds these blooms.
But the raindrop tears on droopong petals were beautiful yesterday.
In the pink, the view from the studio. We are exactly a year on from having trellis added to our garden wall to extend the height of our North and East facing yard walls. After that all our walls needed painting so we lost almost all of last year’s peak growing season for our new project of growing climbing plants. So this Spring has been a revelation. The climbers are climbing and mingling exactly as we hoped they would. Not completely hiding the neighborhood cats that promenade on the tops of our walls but almost, which leads to a quieter life dog-wise.
After a weekend of potting and preening all anyone needs to do now is bloom and grow. Lets see how that goes.
What does “having it all” mean to you? Is it attainable?
I was a working mother in the 80′,90’s and the noughties. I was also doing on-call, studying and caring at a distance for ailing parents. If the traditional media of the time was to be believed I was actually, ” having it all”.
Obviously it was attainable but only with the support of a husband, two wonderful child-minders. Brenda and Bev, and the most fabulous children.
A Glass ceiling.
” Having it all” was exhausting and, at the time, essential. It is what women had/have to do just to get to the glass ceiling, never mind crack the effing thing.
A cracked glass ceiling.
Life was all about spinning plates, lists and always having a plan B.
” Having it all” was actually just a phase and an informal training scheme for extreme multitasking. A hugely valuable skill that I treasure, but do I ever need to ” Have it all” again.
No Thank You
Not, ” having it all” is far better than ” having it all” but I would not have missed ” having it all” however hard it was at the time.
It would be great to have a natter with my Dad. But as he has been in another realm for 30 years, I would have to say that if I can postpone that natter for as long as possible, I would be very grateful . Especially as we would then be in a position of having an eternity of nattering, perhaps.
I have been having a bit of survivor guilt recently,having outlived both my parents by 4 years. I am probably unrecognisable from the 36 year old they left behind so that would be quite the big subject. I feel guilty because they were never able to be the grandparents they could have been due to ill health and caring responsibilities.. I am lucky enough to be a Nana to 3 delightful granddaughters.It is such a life enhancing role. I am sad that both my parents and children missed out on knowing each other well. My own grandparents born in 1888 and 1898, part of the ‘lost’ generation who had survived two world wars, were never as thrilled to be with me as I am with my small people. As long as I was quiet and with my head in a book they were content to let me be. My other female grandparent was born in the First World War and was a busy businesswoman by the time she was my grandparent. She dropped into my life as an infrequent but glamorous visitor exuding American-style glamour and smelling of perfume, cigarettes and gin and tonic evenings. A heady mix in rural Essex. Also hardly the sort of grandparent required in the 2020’s.. I don’t think bonding and building a relationship with me was a priority for them.
But their children, my parents, would have been fabulous grandparents if they had had the chance.
So like much of my adult life I have to make ‘grandparenting’ up as I go along. I must say I find it all rather lovely, hence the survivors guilt and the desire for that conversation, but not any time soon.
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