International Women’s Day. Pondering this is not hard, how dreadful is it that such a day is even needed. Time to reflect on what it is to be a woman in the 21st Century and time to wonder how things will change for everyone’s daughters and granddaughters who will live into the 22nd Century.
I had a quick digital rummage for any sketches of women in my portfolio. I think all of them are quite strong images, this matches my view of the women that I choose as my friends.
I’ve never been a fan of women who adopt subservience to men or who rely on a man for their place in society or those who give up their financial independence to just be an adjunct to a man or men. Strong, competent, effective women are much more my cup of tea.
International Women’s Day, a day to celebrate all the wonderful women who have supported and encouraged me with positive words and actions. A day to reflect on those who have been less than kind too, they also helped to form me. As did the many men who are enlightened enough to know that they are our equals.
The world will be a better place when men and women can work together from an equal position of strength. For 365 days of the year. No special days needed.
At 9am this beach was too warm to wear a coat. It was a completely perfect suntrap. A coffee and two happy dogs made for a lovely early morning start. This little beach collects light weight metal detritus. A tiny aluminium accessory could be posed as a tiny piece of land art.
There was also a small verdigris square of a light metal that had washed up.
Beech combing and coffee done it was time for a walk. The sunburst lichen was a very uplifting place to stop and bask in the real sun.
While watching seabirds fishing for breakfast in a fascinating pool of water in the sea.
If we had found all this on a holiday walk we would have been thrilled but as it was only 30 minutes walk from home it was good to share it with the dogs.
I also found a lovely old bench in bright sunshine for Pondering with a capital P.
On this one occasion where @theoldmortuary goes Time Out follows, albeit at the number 7 spot on their list of most overlooked places in the world. Who even knew @theoldmortuary was quite so on trend!
I’ve copied and pasted the Plymouth section so I can use my own illustrations and add my own small pearls of wisdom. Actually these Pearls are of wealth and not mine to share. There is every possibilty these Pearls passed through Plymouth in the 16th century. Elizabeth I favourite man with very dubious morals, Francis Drake, opperated almost exclusively out of Plymouth. She liked gifts and he supplied them.
The Armada Portrait, currently at The Box Plymouth.
Plymouth, England If the Devon city of Plymouth were any smaller, it’d be considered a jewel of a day-trip destination. If it were any bigger, it simply couldn’t be overlooked. Perhaps because of its middling size, it’s slipped under the radar, and that’s pretty unfair, if you ask us. I like a city that I can do most things by walking or using public transport, not always possiblebut defiantly achievable most days. Like art? The Box is a brilliant, recently opened gallery that celebrates local artists.
Local artist, not celebrating.
Like architecture? You’ll be dazzled by the newly done-up Market Hall, which also has its own ‘immersive art dome’.
@theoldmortuary goes there often, good coffee and cake, 360 degree films and a memorable lesson in Aerial Yoga.
Like swimming? Few pools are more spectacular than the Tinside Lido.
Tinside, fun swimming and fuels my obsession for abstract photography through glass bricks.
Like gin? England’s oldest distillery is smack bang in the historic city centre.
Cocktail from a glug jug.
Book a room at the Bistrot Pierre B&B, in the revamped Royal William Yard, and you’ve lined up pretty much the perfect weekend away.
No need for a room at Bistro Pierre but @theoldmortuary can easily bore the socks off you all with our daily dog walks here.
Thanks to Time Out for giving me an excuse for a quick dip into my photo archive. Congratulations for getting to Friday with me.
I am the green message. The subtext was “I’ve just had a shower and I’m really warm and snug, a bob is the last thing on my mind but the dogs do need a walk so I will come for a natter”
This was the Bobbing zone. It was very persuasive.
Do you call this a dog walk?
As luck would have it there was no one else about. My coat came off and soon after it all my clothes. With a rising tide and a super quick submersion no one was any the wiser. The rising tide did cause a small problem.
Nothing that multi layers and deft dressing couldn’t cope with, the sunshine was very competent at drying me off and the reward was iced gems for all.
Where is the ponder in that I hear you all asking. Well…
Just about every local dog walk takes me past the sea. The only walk I do that doesn’t feature actual water is the Ferry Port and Royal Marine Barracks where there are security cameras and men with very big guns to dissuade casual water entry, casual anything really. In the winter, on a dog walk, my mindset is always one of gratitude that I am not about to plunge into the sea. This morning was no exception. I was fresh out of the shower and wrapped up very warmly against a bracing walk in 4 degrees centigrade. A natter with bobbing friends while doing the dog walk was as close to bobbing as I was prepared to get, until the sun lured me to take my coat off while they were getting ready to swim. We were in a sun trap and there were very few people about. The dogs were preparing to bask on the warm rocks and before I knew it my socks and boots were off, quickly followed by everything else. A very quick entry into the sea and my fate was sealed, I was bobbing. It was high tide so even getting out was easy to do unobserved. A moment in the sun, unplanned and lovely.
This is a rare occasion. A hot bath occuring. Several things have made this unusual. All my life until two or so years ago there was no problem, hard day, ache or pain that couldn’t be solved by a hot bath. I loved to read for hours semi-submerged, hot top ups and tea were beautiful additions to my sense of well-being. More recently Podcasts became a lovely addition to bathtimes.
But as my body has acclimatised to cold water swimming I have lost the ability to slowly broil away my troubles in an overlong hot bath.
Cold swims certainly help with the aches and concerns of mind and body. But winter-feet bored of a life in socks and boots need either a good soak in a hot bucket, my feet still love to be broiled, or complete emersion in a tepid bath. Neither of these choices accommodate book reading. I’m sure my book reading capacity has diminished over the last two years. But overall the switch from hot bathing to cold bobbing has been beneficial.
Pride comes before slump day. Many Bobbers gathered for an early morning swim. Despite the dire warnings of a sea temperature website.
The bob was a fabulous experience, the sun was out the Bobbers were in good form and all was well. We even stayed in longer than the suggested 10 minutes. The post bob conversations were wide ranging and witty fueled by hot drinks and the famed cold water endorphins. Fuel was the thing @theoldmortuary had not factored in, adequate fueling of the caffeine sort. One early morning cup of tea is not enough to keep us going, we had failed to make a coffee pre swim and then the post-swim drink was caffeine free. By 2pm we were ravaged shells of human beings. We dragged ourselves out for the afternoon dog walk, bemoaned our lack of energy. Wondered why we felt so diminished and then realised that one caffeinated drink does not an effective Bobber make especially Bobbers who need to get other stuff done. Breaking all the caffeine rules we made a fully loaded cup of tea at 4pm and got a burst of energy that made us do a second much more sprightly walk and were rewarded with a blue evening and a bright moon.
Here we are, past the middle of February by some way and I have not given daffodils the usual blog space that is normal for this time of year. This year I am not driving all over Cornwall arranging arty stuff so I don’t get the thrill of seeing wild and often unusual daffodils growing in the hedgerows where they were discarded during the second World War, when flower fields were changed to food production. Our house has had the easily available £1 daffodil bunches available in most supermarkets. Pretty enough to bring joy to the house but standard looking. Until this week. This week’s bunch took a while to open and were unusual in that they have a different shape, a bit like a cross between a daf and a tulip. Their outside petals form a cup and don’t open.
Extensive googling can’t find the name of these unusual daffodils. I wonder if they were picked in error for the bottom end of the daffodil bunch market. I am very happy to have them. Googling however took me somewhere a little sad. Supermarket Flowers is a song written by Ed Sheeren in 2017.
The actual words were unknown to me but really resonate with the moments when a family gathers to clear up after a mum has died.
I took the supermarket flowers from the windowsill I threw the day old tea from the cup Packed up the photo album Matthew had made Memories of a life that’s been loved Took the get well soon cards and stuffed animals Poured the old ginger beer down the sink Dad always told me, “Don’t you cry when you’re down” But mum, there’s a tear every time that I blink
Oh I’m in pieces, it’s tearing me up, but I know A heart that’s broke is a heart that’s been loved
So I’ll sing Hallelujah You were an angel in the shape of my mum When I fell down you’d be there holding me up Spread your wings as you go And when God takes you back we’ll say Hallelujah You’re home
Fluffed the pillows, made the beds, stacked the chairs up Folded your nightgowns neatly in a case John says he’d drive then put his hand on my cheek And wiped a tear from the side of my face
I hope that I see the world as you did ’cause I know A life with love is a life that’s been lived
So I’ll sing Hallelujah You were an angel in the shape of my mum When I fell down you’d be there holding me up Spread your wings as you go And when God takes you back we’ll say Hallelujah You’re home
Lovely winter daylight in the studio has given me some time to try a landscape that mingles the visual experience of checking out our swimming zone with the physical experience of checking out our zone. In truth we all predict how the swim is going to be in various ways. The Bobbers who cross the Tamar river have an observation that if the river is rough then the sea to the east will be calm. Bobbers from the North of the city travel together but many of them have already met in a park earlier for dog walking when various predictions for the upcoming bob are discussed. Those of us who live closer shiver in our thick winter coats while walking our dogs only an hour before we slip into something briefer to slip effortlessly, we imagine, into the chilly sea. What is the point of this predictive group Pondering, nothing really ever stops a well planned bob. On only one occasion have we taken the easier option of swimming in the tidal pool, and in over two years only a couple of bobs have been cancelled for safety reasons. We actually bob just a minute or two further east from this location but for every bob, we stand looking at this view and try to predict how much pleasure, or not, will be extracted from the days dip. We are rarely disappointed. If I were to paint an ‘after’ painting it would feature non-stop nonsense talking, flasks and many layers of clothing, not necessarily in the correct order.
This is the little beige dog that is the constant companion to the lighter, brighter, whiter Hugo. Lola was once a dark chocolate dog with milk chocolate brown eyes. The poodle fading gene has caused her to be a completely milk chocolate dog now, so pale we can barely distinguish her white markings. In every way she has been a fabulous companion to both us and Hugo but the determined little face of that dark brown puppy reflects her true character. Today she was determined to share my chocolate croissant. Her poodle nose poking at the brown carrier bag that held it.
Regular croissants are not her thing at all. She can easily sleep through the eating of one of those.
She firmly believes that the beautifully laminated slightly crispy doughy part of a chocolate croissant is hers and I am left with the awkward-to-eat bit that contains the chocolate.
Eating this in the car was a rare treat because we were off to have the car valeted. So the mess that is the consequence of her croissant enthusiasm was all vacuumed away while we did a long dog walk.
While we loved having a clean car inside and out, this is the face of a very disappointed dog who couldn’t find a single crumb to sustain her after her morning walk. We have not yet been forgiven. Hugo has not been forgotten today, but he prefers a plain croissant. They are, after all individuals with their own particular preferences.
It is not everyday that I turn up to work looking a little like a queen. One of the 3 Armada portraits of Elizabeth I has arrived at the Museum and Gallery where I work. A painting that has stared out of a million history books. The iconic image of a Tudor Queen that is both familiar and yet never actually seen before. Sartorial comparisons may take a stretch of the imagination but to aid the process I took up a queenly pose while working.
While the Queen holds a globe to show how well Colonising was going, I am close a Barbara Hepworth sculpture because it was the only round thing available. In the Armada Portrait we do not see Elizabeth’s shoes but in a painting from a similar time I found her feet.
Tiny Elizabeth feet in flat shoes.Bigger feet in flat shoes of a simple design not too dissimilar from Tudor shoes.
Elizabeth and I were both wearing predominantly black garments but with peach ribbons and statement necklaces.
Hers were statements of wealth, mine are the opposite. The Lanyard is a modern emblem of employment. My necklace is home made from recycled beads. The thing they have in common is that both my lanyard and plastic beads and Elizabeth’s pearls and silk ribbons are made from traded goods, mine possibly more ethically traded than hers. Which brings us to the backgrounds of both our pictures. In Elizabeth’s picture there are painted scenes of Francis Drakes victory over the Spanish. In my picture the background is filled with objects from the permanent collection of The Box, Plymouth. Without the British victory the world and this wall of acquisitions would look very different today. Below is a link to an explanation of the Armada events
theoldmortuary.design 