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.
If I had the answer to this I would almost certainly be far too busy to live a normal life. Explaining the ‘something’ to most people would take a lot of time and effort.
Better to concentrate on the things that I don’t understand and give myself a little mental upgrade. Most of my contemporary understanding arrives accidentally at my door. I often wish I had understood something better years ago. But am always grateful that late enlightenment has arrived. Pondering helps.
I thought I had the measure of yesterday. About 5 hours of admin for two organisations that I work for. Some dog walking and some domestica. Serendipity however made those things happen alongside some lovely pondering. My early dog walk gave me a rare moment on the most popular beach nearby. For once it was deserted and I could get one of my ‘bad’ photographs to play around with later in the day.
The sun was up, the dogs were happy and I could perch on the drying rocks contemplating my day. But I was not alone, just at the point where the high tide had turned last night, there was a gathering of memorial flowers and some ashes. Someone else had not quite left the beach.
Just a small bunch of yellow roses signifying all the love and sorrow of an unknown person’s death. Somewhere in this Hybrid Printmaking image, of a spring morning at the tidal pool, these flowers create a little bit of the texture that makes this picture what it is.
The infinite Magnolia Blooms of St Mary’s, Barnes.
There is a memorial bench set under this magnificent Magnolia in the graveyard of St Mary’s. I don’t think my parents ever set foot in Barnes but this would be the perfect spot to have scattered their ashes.
Red Hot Magnolia
Growing a blooming Magnolia was a red hot topic in their marriage. My mum loved them and my dad didn’t seem to be able to ever grow one that bloomed. The thick clay soul/soil of North East Essex was not kind to Magnolias, or at least our small corner was not kind.
When they died their last attempt at growing a blooming Magnolia was beginning to show promise, buds appeared, but dropped off before they could open. Many years later I was stalking my parents old home on a property website and observed the tree looking very healthy in the garden. Maybe it blooms I thought. The house was for sale again recently, the Magnolia was gone. Replaced by a climbing frame.
And so the birthday weekend moved on from Comedy to Culture. Yesterday’s birthday boy moved on to more serious pursuits and we , his tiny familial audience perused the coffee shops and Charity shops of Barnes while he rehearsed.
In St Mary’s Churchyard. Barnes.
Not just about human culture, the dogs were treated to some most excellent canine abstract art.
Dog piss patination.
Not the only culture the dogs got to experience. The wonderfully friendly people of St Mary’s and Barnes Music Festival encouraged us to bring the dogs into the church for the concert. I cannot imagine what was going on in their heads while watching one of their favourite humans waving his baton and creating beautiful sounds from other humans. They were, at times, spellbound, watching intently and turning their heads to try and make sense of what was happening in front of them.
Blog #1234, what a fabulous number. I had better make this blog worthy.
We went out, out last night to a nightclub in Reading for Comedy. The Comedy was a bit hit and miss, but we were not sitting in the front row, which is always a blessing. In fact in a surreal twist the only place we could find to sit was a snug area with sofas. Or should I call it the snog area, which it would almost certainly have been when I was last out, out in Reading.
The sofa area did not protect us from being the butt of one comedian’s jokes.
Sample sentence below.
By resting our butts on the sofa the comedian made us the butt of his jokes.
The audience was divided, in his witty mind, into the under 30’s, the Waitrose set. Waitrose is a posh supermarket, and the elderly, on the sofas.
A crude and inaccurate stereotype as I was the only one over 60, we sometimes shop in Waitrose and 50% of the sofa sitters were under 30.
The Elderly sofa area is reflected in a glitterball.
But we were not about to disagree with a Comedian. That path is where danger lies, I have been there before and my indignant research on my work computer the next night, got me locked out of the work system while I was doing an on-call shift. I had to make the call of shame to the overnight I.T man who really didn’t care that my words were probably commonplace for psychiatrists and psychologists. I used that as my excuse for the research.
Should you wish to try this at your own workplace, look up Coprophagia and Coprophilia.
We were out to celebrate my brother-in-laws slightly over 50 birthday. It is also my dad’s birthday and he would have been 95 were he still in this realm.
The last time I was ‘out, out’ in the Reading area I would have probably been risking some paternal crossness for being away from Essex for the weekend and he didn’t know where I was or who I was with.
I pondered this in between comedian sets, in fact one comedian was so bad I pondered it during the set. I just couldn’t quite remember my last Reading encounter. And this is where the older human brain is the joyous thing it is. The minute I woke up this morning the name South Hill Arts Centre floated to the top of my pointless, pondering pile.
So where is no longer a mystery but the who remains somewhat less clear, I can narrow it down, it would have been a musician that I had met at a live music gig at Braintree College of Further Education. I await my older human brain to fish the name of my companion from my squishy cerebral cortex, sometime in the next few days.
So there we are, 95 year old Dad in another realm. All the info you needed a very long time ago.
Keeping on track for being ready for an art exhibition ahead of time should be easy. The tasks are well known and never change once the creative process has been completed. The jobs I am talking about are the ones successful artists never have to bother with because with great success comes a team who swoop up the mistresspiece and do all the tasks that get the work from Studio to Gallery.
I laboured for two hours yesterday framing a tiny piece of work. The job became compelling. I shut off the reality that there are three more identical tiny pieces of work to be framed. I shut off the cacophony of mental litter that came with a new endeavour I have signed up for.
Now I am not saying that I wouldn’t embrace being a very successful artist with a team behind me doing the non creative stuff. But there is some calming magic in doing something hard for me, that others could do better and quicker. Because somewhere in all that concentration I had a creative brainwave for the future. On track you might say.
Pondering the Spring or Vernal Equinox with a dark image of Spring while listening to the dawn chorus with the first caffeinated cup of tea of the day. I hardly have a rock and roll lifestyle, but I am nursing a small lack-of-caffeine headache, so there is a touch of angst in my early morning perfection. But with proper darkness into a light celebration of the Vernal Equinox, I have another vase of spring flowers to illustrate this blog of the changing season.
Aesthetically the womanliness of this vase is the star of this image.
Happy Vernal Equinox to those in the Northern Hemisphere. Happy Friday to all.
It doesn’t take much consistent Springiness to make me adopt Springlike behaviour. No coat for most dog walks this week, sometimes regrettable.
Early morning bud watch in the yard. Coffee in hand. Page turning moments while reading pruning guides with the last cup of tea before bed.
And the urge to book tickets for outdoor events.
After last week’s success at a Silent Disco, the bobbers are planning another Dry Bob at the Tinside Lido soon. A Silent Disco at a swimming pool. How appropriate is that?
In defence of my inquisitive nature I would say I never slip from curiosity into prying.
These steps had been away to be refurbished over winter. I was curious to know if they felt any different on their return. They form a vital link on the South West Coastal Path near my home.
The sound of my feet on the metal structure has changed very slightly. More importantly a favourite circular walk has been restored to me. Curiosity satisfied.
A prying person might demand to know exactly what Civil engineering and refurbishment tasks have been undertaken.
Curiously inquisitive, but not in a prying way.
For curiosity’s sake I flipped these two images. I don’t think I can begin to describe how uncomfortable these stairs feel to me running in the opposite orientation.
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