‘There are some losses that change the trajectory of your life’ P.Diddy
Puff Daddy, P.Diddy, Diddy or even Sean Combs his real name, is talking about the death of a woman he loved and shared three children with.
Significant losses or negative events do change the direction that life takes.
As an optimist and someone who likes to reflect on my half-full glass I am guilty of skimming over negative outcomes and always trying to find the best in people and situations.
Reflecting on the negative is not somewhere I feel comfortable but just acknowledging that negatives and positives have equal power to change the direction of life is somehow a quite relaxing thought. Just as the planned and unplanned have a similar capacity.
A ponder is not what I expected when I read an article about a Billionaire Rapper. Just one thoughtful sentence. Of course I have lived the reality of loss altering life’s directions. As has every human. But until today I could not have expressed that sensation so eloquently.
Ponder #682 was a tragic historical blog about Slapton Sands but we had a fab time in the sun on the eponymously named Sunday. It was a vanlife day that started at 8am with breakfast.
There was also a Sunday newspaper to be read. Walks to be had and for Hugo some basking
Lola takes things a little further, or maybe less far, and lounges in a sunbeam.
For the humans days like this are about catching up and nattering. We have a friend who is going through a very raw grief currently. We have both been through that journey and seeing friends hitting such a life changing event is hard to witness with grim personal experiences to recall. But we are fine and imperfect examples of getting through both sudden, traumatic, grief and the slow destruction of terminal loss. It is good to talk of love and loss on a sunny day, on a beautiful beach with some dark history. Because we all need to know that the sun will come out again, even in dark places.
Facebook Timehop keeps coming up with old friends. Not the human sort but artwork that I have entered into exhibitions and then sold. October is traditionally the beginning of my artistic hibernation. Last exhibitions have been entered and the unsold works return to the studio. My work is not particularly gift-worthy so unlike many artists my exhibiting season does not extend towards Christmas.
I have got into the habit of having an experimental phase for a few months from November until February and then I knuckle down to create some new pieces to replace those that have sold the previous year. This year has been a little different in that some large works that had been leased/ loaned to a company that had huge white walls, were returned to me when the company moved locations. The last one of these pieces was sold last week.
Deadheading
I miss paintings when they are gone. Just as dog breeders probably miss puppies.
The one below was given a high gloss resin coating so the farewell picture also features a self portrait of the artist. (Me)
Dive
As paintings are sold and others return the studio gets a bit of a reshuffle. I’m not entirely sure how a reshuffle differs from a tidy up but this year there is a distinct difference. The tidy up meant I completely lost two monoprints that have an interested buyer. The reshuffle of this week has found those monoprints and an original watercolour which I need to make some cards.
Nearly there trees.
One more original to find. Pumpkins also needs to be turned into cards but somewhere between the tidy up and the reshuffle he has gone missing. So missing that there is not even a photograph!
In contrast to these pictures my experiments are quite different and may never see an exhibition. Yesterday I painted Storm Agnes in Tranquility Bay. A slightly strange mix of reality and imagination, but that is the point of experimentation.
Storm Agnes in Tranquility Bay.
It does me good to reconnect with sold pieces of art. I had almost decided to stop painting bigger pieces as they are so difficult to store, but seeing these has galvanised me into future action on bigger canvases. They, at least, never go missing.
My daytime yesterday was a series of jobs. Intrinsically with not a jot of anything worth blogging about. Apart from the evening which was fab. But sometimes the prompts that my blogging platform puts out each morning hit a nerve. This morning was such a moment. Yesterday I ran out of sticky tape to wrap a parcel. I had also run out of a specialist tape used for framing pictures. It made logistical sense to buy both from a specialist art shop. But as you can see there are four items in the above picture. Nowhere on my mental shopping list did a rose gold highlighter or an off-white marker feature. My exact thought as I walked out of the shop was .Why can I never just buy the two really dull items? Why does every trip to an art shop tempt me to buy more materials?
So with the two additional items in hand I then ponder where the fault lies. The culprit I decide is the specialist framing tape. I could have popped in anywhere and picked up parcel tape and just picked up parcel tape. But Loxley Gumstick Handy Artist Gummed Tape is a very dull looking product. I had to search it down . Past every known and unknown art product.
Then my pondering attention turned to the parcel tape. Had I not needed it to wrap a birthday gift, I would not have needed to be anywhere near the art shop because the framing tape was not a super urgent need.
Is not buying unplanned items a skill?
Is it even possible in an art shop ?
Two questions worthy of a ponder…
Maybe the blame lies with the birthday girl whose parcel needed wrapping.
Maybe I should just accept that for a trip to an art shop, only two unplanned items was not such a bad result and that the fault is all mine.
My little corner of the southwest of England has emerged from a few days of low cloud. Not exactly our familiar greige but just very low cloud, making life a bit damp. Another unwelcome side effect is that all the brightly coloured autumn leaves become a rather dull shade of brown as soon as they spend any time on the ground.
Autumn is a tricksy time for dog owners, hunting a poo, even one done at the end of a lead can be so difficult even in brightly coloured leaves.
This beautiful leaf was in Dulwich Picture Gallery Park. Somewhere I have hunted autumnal poos often. There is a wonderful sculpture by Peter Randall-Page that celebrates doggy defecation in the same park.
Walking the Dog I, II, III by Peter Randall-Page
No chance of missing those doggy dollops. But real life is not like that,so my autumn will be spent peering into piles of leaves. I don’t always find my target, so by way of reparation I pick up a less diligent dog owner’s abandoned poo. There is something slightly uncomfortable about picking up a cold anonymous poo. Community spirit is not always comfy.
Rather a lovely but not interesting answer. My Grand daughters first Birthday. However if we roll back a year my response would be different. The tomorrow of exactly one year ago was my daughters first day of her maternity leave. She was in London and I was as far west as it is possible to be in Devon. My priority for that day was to pack my Nana bag. A bag that would be grabbed some time in the next month or so when I would be needed as number 2 birthing partner.
There was a mental list , thank goodness, because at 2a.m my granddaughter decided to start her arrival. Some of the mental list made it into an actual bag and I made it into London in time for her grand entrance. Despite the A303 doing the overnight closure thing and the London rush hour doing its daytime thing.
So if I am ever asked on the second of October what my priority for tomorrow will be. The answer is likely to always be the same.
Farewell September, you were fabulous. Sunshine from start to finish yesterday, so a small road trip on the A38 to harvest Vitamin D on the edge of Dartmoor, at Ashburton. Prompted by my blog of yesterday I remembered to take the pile of stuff labeled ‘ Charity Shop’ actually to a charity shop. Link below to an introduction to Ashburton, a historic town founded in 1305. As with many towns in Devon I used to work there occasionally and loved the vibe of the place.
While drinking our coffee we were involved in someone else’s colour choices for the outside of their home.
Now that is a pretty broad spectrum of colour choices.
Personally my vote was for the really dark blue at the top of this close up picture. In September sun it was the perfect colour. Maybe not so much on days when Dartmoor pulls rain out of the sky specifically to drench anyone who foolishly has to work in the town, and be out and about. Oh Ashburton I remember your rainy days…
Another wall was in need of some tlc.
Delivering stuff to charity shops obligates a bit of a ruffle about in the stock already on display. I have a fascination for the artwork on Album or LP covers. Charity shops are a rich source of the albums that no contemporary vinyl collector would ever be interested in.
We also found a graveyard for figurines at a very reasonable price.
September is also the time of Harvest Festivals , we caught a flower arrangement on the move.
All in all a very colourful day finished off with a late afternoon swim still in sunshine.
I nearly did. Why do the months I love most travel at the National speed limit, and the ones I don’t care for much just linger .
At some point in September I was planning to blog about ‘Second -hand September’
The second to last day of September is hardly going to spread the word but this blog is almost a confession. For someone who fully embraces the second hand world of Charity Shops (Op shops) and EBay my September has not seen me set foot in a Charity shop. On instagram I follow a woman who writes great wisdom about fashion and second-hand purchasing and the effect the fashion industry has on the planet.
I set up this Instagram page a while ago . Uncharted waters to do something that is not art or blogging related. As you will see there is not a single post but before September is done I will start the second-hand ball rolling.
My second-hand win of this September is a worthy starting story.
A long time ago I bought two new dresses from Toast. They are simple throw on dresses that can do a day at work or nighttime galavanting. They are still fabulous despite doing loads of twirls in the washing machine. The black one has been redyed twice. I thought they would be with me until the end of time.
Having lost my sense of taste and smell I am losing weight. Most clothes just fit me better but because of the low backed design these two dresses just hang off me, my shoulders are more out than in.
Intermittent browsing on Ebay paid off a few weeks ago. A smaller size blue dress appeared and I successfully bid on it, and am very happily wearing a perfect second hand version of a dress that I have loved for many years.
Not that the new instagram account will be all about clothes. It will be the perfect place to tell all the stories of my second hand shopping and non-shopping . Sometimes items on the shelves tell fabulous stories but are best left on the shelf…
Second-hand September, but only just.
P.s oh the reality, I realise that today not a single piece of clothing is second hand. One piece is very old and one new. Thank goodness I am sitting on a chair that was made in the 1960’s looking at a sideboard from the same era.
What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?
Bobbing and the bobbers are a rich source of advice. So much so that isolating the best piece of advice would be foolhardy. But the wittiest piece of advice I gained from the big bobbing trunk of advice is really rather useful and it also makes me laugh out loud whenever I hear the first sentence in real life or on the radio or TV.
” Well, the ball is in their/his/her court” says the protagonist, following a disagreement or differing opinion on any number of subjects. This suggests to anyone who is listening that a point of understanding or neutrality has been reached after a period of tentative discussions or slightly uncomfortable negotiations.
The protagonist is suggesting that the next move is entirely up to the person or organisation that they have had a disagreement with.
A Bobbers additional sentence takes all illusion of control away.
” But the bat is up my arse”
Removing any scintilla of doubt as to where the real power lies.
This patch of England has been my home since 1988, it is far from my place of birth and in that time I have not always lived here. But it is where my soul has its feet under the table. This morning for no reason in particular I wondered why Plymouth Sound was a ‘Sound’. Geography had the answer.
Yesterday we were at the far west reaches of the Sound, at Kingsand and Cawsand. The furthest point seen through the circle is, I believe, the far west point of Plymouth Sound before it becomes the Atlantic Ocean.
Conversely dog grooming occurs on the furthest easterly point at Wembury.
Yesterday I was able to take a photo of Both the easterly point and the most westerly with a wooden tall ship in the middle.
The Pelican of London had just left Plymouth and was taking quite a buffering from the wind as it sheltered in Cawsand Bay. Madness to think that a tall ship moored here would, in the past, have been ripe, low hanging fruit for the smugglers, pirates and wreckers of all the places we love to walk our dogs and enjoy gorgeous scenery.
Bigger than a bight and wider than a fjord . Packed with history and landscape. 99% of @theoldmortuary blogs occur from here.
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