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 know I couldn’t stop at 3 pet peeves and more would seem rather ranty. So I will just offer one peeve. And there is a sting in it for me.
I think this saying would also cover micromanaging which is also unforgivable.
I like to think just a withering look quells any egg sucking educators. But the truth of the matter is that no matter how much I dislike micromanagement and any other unsolicited advice. I actually have no idea how to suck an egg. All eggs in close proximity to me will remain resolutely unsucked.
But try to teach me how to suck eggs and you will be rewarded with at least a withering look. And believe me if my thought bubbles could actually be read you would realise I am not quite the person I present as.
Colour is my thing. Sometimes when I frame a picture the snippets from the chopped off edges are so jewel-like and precious that I can’t bear to throw them out. We are in the midst of a slow, deep tidy and reorganise of the studio space that trebbles up as a snug/play room and exercise area. A practical person would throw these inconsequential bits of scrap into a bin. And I may still do so but two of the strips had the words Hearts and Minds typed on them. The typed strips ran in two directions which made me think about warp and weft and set me off weaving paper for absolutely no reason.
The first weave, above, was entirely random. But the second gave the words more prominence.
Typing and watercolour work well together. The watercolours are easily accessible in the new storage but the typewriter is put away until we get some more storage. But maybe weaving words and colours could be a new project. But will I be diligent enough to throw the scraps in the bin?
Storm Bert, is not living up to his rather jovial name. His 24 hours of big seas, gusting winds, heavy rain and some structural damage have been more dispiriting than disruptive.
The Bert Gold Standard, including his cockney accent which never bothered the British says the actor.
“I still get kidded about it. But it didn’t seem to harm anybody’s enjoyment of the movie. But I do get kidded about it. The people who don’t kid me are the British. They never mentioned it — and they’re the ones who should be making fun of me and don’t.”
Anyway Dismal Bert, has inspired a painting/drawing I will crack on with him later next week.
I feel the urge to drench this blog with colour, we filled our day with it by going to a local craft festival and nattering with vivid, colourful artists.
The Studio walls were painted with an Oat colour.
And I carried on with my Autumn challenge, set by a friend when I was disparaging about another artist. I still stand by my comments, the challenge has become curiously enjoyable.
Not the bigger picture.
And finally Bert doing his worst yesterday at Tranquility Bay. Not so tranquil.
I have high hopes of Storm Bert who is rumbling in this morning.
I have never had a bad experience with a Bert. Berts in my experience are mostly clean old gentlemen wearing a hint of Old Spice aftershave. Berts who have fallen on harder times may not be as clean or fragranced but they have always seemed amendable. Bert is a solid working-class name. Bertie is more of a socially mobile name, George VI was known as Bertie, short for Albert.
I would rather ask a Bert to do a job than I would a Bertie.
Right now Bert is harrumphing down our chimneys and making the trees sway. I quite look forward to painting him when he has revealed his stormy personality.
Snow hit Devon and Cornwall Thursday. We saw nothing of it on our little peninsula that juts into the sea. But the effects of it made the day quite a challenge.
Hugo was due some more jaw surgery so we set off early to the vets. No vets had made it into work from their homes on Bodmin Moor or Dartmoor. All surgery apart from Hugos was cancelled. I left him in the hopes of vets arriving eventually.
There are only two major roads that take traffic in and out of Cornwall and Devon to the wider world of everywhere else. Unknown to me one of them, the A30 had been closed at 5am which is why the vets were struggling.
The less efficient of the two roads, the A38, became overwhelmed. The A38 is the road I use for the 20 minute journey to and from the vets. In total I should have spent one hour twenty minutes on the A38. Thursday, my actual total was closer to 5 hours. I could have planned my day so much better.Hugo on the other hand had a blast of a day. No surgery, a late breakfast and ample opportunity for cuddles with veterinary nurses who had time on their hands.
In the time it has taken me to write these few words Bert has gone from gusty to glum. He may not be one of the nicer Berts of my aquaintance.
In other news the festive window dressing is finished. Father Christmas/Santa in a sailing boat arrived. I started making a window feature after seeing them in the back streets of Chelsea and Westminster about 10 years ago.
From the insideFrom the outside
Today I discovered there is a trend for frontscaping a house.
I am firmly a both kind of person in the visual sense, the two combined are very special. I am a gazer at Mountains, I have no need and not the right knees for ‘ conquering’ mountains. Unless they are fairly small versions.
I was in Arcadia, a mountainous region of Greece, recently. A wonderful place to walk and enjoy mountain air and village life. Only days before I was on an unspoilt beach on Spetses Island.
Spetses
Both locations got a full 100% satisfaction grading from me. Both offered huge fresh figs and good coffee. No need to choose one over the other. Both are fabulous especially if figs and coffee are involved.
Yesterdays morning dog walk was full of visual texture. The picture above is two photos superimposed as the early morning weather went from cold and bright to foreboding in the blink of an eye. If blinking an eye took five minutes.
Similarly this vertically cut tree stump bathes in the sunshine while showing off its toxic fungus growth.
Then one last pool of light, with a hidden menace.
All taken within about 15 minutes and half a mile between them.
I was going to write a blog about the joy of morning pools of light in the late autumn sun, when I realised that each one hides a threat of sorts.
Thursday thinking.
Cover picture is all 3 pictures Superimposed. I love it. Yet it hides. Bad weather, poisonous fungi and a trained lethal killer. All in 15 minutes of a dog walk.
If you could meet a historical figure, who would it be and why?
I have met so many people in my life, a few who have or will become historical figures.
Just as you should not judge a book by its cover. Historical figures may not be as fascinating as history depicts them. Just like all humans historical figures can be a mixed bag.
Honestly I can’t reliably make a decision. Obviously this is a personal opinion.
Were I to randomly meet a historical figure that would be just fine and rather fascinating. A chance to interact as equals, perhaps on a long train or aircraft journey. Somewhere that we are unable to escape one another until our book or a podcast lets us off the hook.
I suppose what I fear is not only managing my expectations but also the historical figures’ perceptions of me.
Would they give me, a non historical figure, just 30 seconds of small talk and move on when someone of more interest, to them, appears on the horizon.
The book club I belong to is many things. Most definitely a meeting of minds. Our WhatsApp group bubbles with random thoughts that we share in between our monthly gatherings.
Yesterday an absolute gem of a poem was shared.
If Adam Picked the Apple by Danielle Coffyn.
There would be a parade,
a celebration,
a holiday to commemorate
the day he sought enlightenment.
We would not speak of
temptation by the devil, rather,
we would laud Adam’s curiosity,
his desire for adventure
and knowing.
We would feast
on apple-inspired fare:
tortes, chutneys, pancakes, pies.
There would be plays and songs
reenacting his courage.
But it was Eve who grew bored,
weary of her captivity in Eden.
And a woman’s desire
for freedom is rarely a cause
for celebration.
The Creation Myth was never high up on my Believable Stories List.
The practicality of attaching a leaf to anyone’s genitals for modesty was the first reality check.
In consequence I have never given the story much thought.
Big question on a blog with a lovely number. #1111.
My favourite month is May with September as a very close second.
September
Weather, nature and crowds are my parameters. Late May is a gorgeous, vivid time of year with nature bursting out in all directions . The holiday season has not quite cranked visitor numbers up to intolerable, even if they are essential to the local economy.
In September Nature is a little dusty and depleted by the Summer and Visitors but the weather is usually kind.
If May is Glamorous,then September is Shabby Chic, both fabulous in their ways.
A bit of googling suggests that my first choice is popular. The second not so much.
I have never worked in education but September always feels like a month of new beginnings and May the sharpness just before the languor of Summer.
May wins because it welcomes Summer but only by a little bit. May also has one extra day.
A Sunday perspective. Are Sundays about reflecting on the past week or looking forward to the coming week?
I am never sure. During the past week we caught up with some former colleagues over a cup of coffee. We had the most delicious conversations about third party former colleagues, that we had all worked with at differing times or hospitals.
Two military men cropped up. The resulting conversation is unlikely ever to be forgotten.
” Oh X, he was always so lovely, I can’t believe you didn’t realise he was gay”
” Y, nice chap, quite a stickler, maybe homophobic”
” Did you know he became a Wizard”
Conversations like this are the bricks and mortar of good friendships. The laughter in that moment was golden.
Here is another golden Sunday perspective. A super low tide and a long walk to the ferry.
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