I love a mirror selfie. The one above was entirely accidental. I was photographing a card design on my workbench and accidentally flipped to the actual selfie mode and photographed myself in the mirror ball that hangs in the window of my studio. I am the pixelated orange blob in the centre of the mirrorball.
In Venice recently, my feet put in an appearance on an Arnaldo Pomodoro , Sphere Within a Sphere, sculpture. The rest of me is lost in a dark crevice.
And in Dublin I embellished the same sculptors work a year ago
Back in Venice I doubled myself onto an unnamed sculpture by Anish Kapoor.
Yesterday I had to remove myself from my own painting to include it in the blog. Here is the original, a highly glossy resin piece.
I dressed the part to visit a Yayoi Kusama installation in Hong Kong
But most times the reflection is unavoidable. Here I am hanging with Mick, as you do.
Helmut Newton
The serendipity of this blog is that it is two years since the last blog course I attended. The final piece of advice given by my chosen mentor was to put more of myself in the blogs. He absolutely did not mean visually. He wanted to hear my voice in my writing. Any sort of self exposure feels a bit awkward, written or visual but I have tried to take his advice and after two years I am finding the whole thing a bit easier. She says, pulling a quizzical face.
How can I share the joy of a plunge in cold, clean, seawater or indeed the joy of plunging generally.
In life I am a plunger. I love the word. It begins with an upbeat feeling and then ends with a soft J-like sound that feels like a cuddle.
I don’t plunge without regard to safety or without a good bit of research. Plunging is an immersive experience.
If plunge was a Danish word I could see it being trendy in the way hygge has.
To plunge is to do something whole heartedly.
This morning I plunged into the sea. It was breathtaking and wonderful.
A long time ago I painted a plunge. The moment a hand cleaves into water.
In the header photograph I took an image of the inside of a plastic water bottle. The small amount of warm colours merging into crisp blues is another way of trying to depict the act or experience of the moment of peak plunge.
At this point serendipity hits. Last night we quickly left a Christmas music event to head to the Barbican in Plymouth for a different event. The Christmas lights were a fabulous likeness to my water bottle image.
As you can see from these two images the Barbican was full of people intent on ‘ making a night of it’ in the run up to Christmas.
No big deal you might think but here is a plunge into history. Southside Street and the even older New Street which runs parallel and slightly higher; both lead to Sutton Harbour and existed in some form from about 700AD. When Anglo-Saxon mariners settled here trading goods and fish. Greatly developed in the Medieval periods, the pubs, alehouses and brothels would have seen festive drinkers and pleasure seekers making merry at this time of year. For pagan festivals initially, and then for the conveniently timed Christian Festival of Christmas from about the 10th century. Any excuse to banish the glumness of extra long dank and dark nights in a Northern Hemisphere winter.
This contemporary image of groups of people moving from pub/bar/alehouse seeking pleasure in late December is so timeless it slightly unnerves me . Oh to be a time traveller in this area, with appropriate vaccinations. Plunging through history…
Only a week until the Winter Solstice and the shortest day in the Northern Hemisphere. I am not a fan of the shorter days of winter. Dark by 6pm is just about tolerable with daybreak at about 8am and is about as long a night as I need in winter.The extra shortness of days in December and January are, to me, unacceptable.The hours not in darkness should be cold, crisp and bright with sunshine. Is that too much to ask for?
Despite disliking the short day aspect of December and January I have never actively sought out winter sun to break the mood. I am drawn to the folklore around a Northern Hemisphere Winter Solstice. I find it fabulously creative and intriguing, but the further north you go the shorter the days are. Not for me. My perfect trip at this time of year would need to be further South but hold something of the darker aspects of the Winter Solstice. Greece turns out to be perfect for my needs. At this time of year. They have the Kallikantzaros, mythical bad lads, not dissimilar to trolls or gnomes. Slightly longer days and sea water at a temperature that I would happily swim in certainly sweetens the deal.
Which takes me to the answer for today’s prompt.
What cities do you want to visit?
Nafplion is already a favourite city for three seasons of visits, now I have discovered that winter can provide me with angry, hairy creatures at Winter Solstice, there really is no reason not to visit in December.
No reason not to park overlooking the sea.
No reason not to enjoy a coffee in a back street.
And no reason not to enjoy a Greek sunset in December.
With the possibility of meeting some mythical angry, hairy creatures. Winter solstice goals all in the one small, Greek city.
When I decided to mark Advent by celebrating serendipity I had no idea that Serendipity would appear at my feet on a morning dog walk. Just where a dog shadow is projected on the pavement you can see a metal insert. This is one of many Sherlock Holmes quotes that run along this street. For a few years Conan Doyle lived on this street and ran his G.P practice here. These quotations are a gentle homage to the author and his most famous character.
I have walked this way hundreds of times and never before have I seen this particular quotation.
It is serendipitously apt because this blog is almost entirely created upon the observation of trifles. And yet I have failed to observe this quote until today. Doubly serendipitously I used to catch my bus home from University College in London opposite 221 b Baker Street the literary address of Sherlock Holmes.
Yesterday, as usual, the plates in my internal dialogue were spinning.
Is there chatter inside your head? Or is it relatively quiet there? There has recently been a conversation in the media, that I have been aware of, about how busy human heads are. Some people have a chatty internal monologue that narrates their life, while others have a quiet, serene inner landscape. The folks with the internal monologue simply cannot imagine not having one — and vice versa.
My head is a busy, busy space. Now I no longer work for an organisation, it is randomly busy constantly.
I have synesthesia. My thinking and doing processes are not quite the same as other people.
Learning new and difficult skills gently eases the vivid fairground that my internal monologue resembles. Conforming to standard thinking for the benefit of learning, set by others quiets my mind. It was hard as a small person to adhere to the thinking processes of external forces but by the age of ten I had pretty much learned that life was a lot easier that way.
Life as a semi-retired person whose only work is Life, Art and using my transferable skills,does not involve some of the things I struggle with most. Struggling was actually good for me.
I have never quite managed to quit the Fairground for the things on the list below. I pretended to with limited success. I may have fooled others but I knew I was just pretending.
1. Advanced Maths.
2. The Harvard referencing system
3. Foreign languages
4. Colour by numbers paintings.
5. Following instructions.
There are many other things that I struggle with but deferring to my synesthesia, inexplicably, helps me seem competent.
This means that these days my head is much more Fairground than Zen Garden. Because it can be. Leaving my fully creative head at the age of tenish was an entirely pragmatic and practical way to proceed into adulthood. Easing my way back, more fully into my creative head at 60 has been an absolute pleasure. I know that I can function outside the Fairground but the Fairground is a more fertile place for me. Life has given me the tools I need to slip into the Zen Garden. I am grateful to have the choice.
P.S Going into an actual Fairground scares the pants off me. Way, way too stimulating. Entering a Zen space however is absolute pleasure. My internal monologue and real life sit happily at odds with one another.
This blog was inspired by a conversation I had in a choir last night and a conversation when I was mature student studying art.
“Isn’t it great to be yourself again when you work less” ✓
” Synesthesia ? You must love Kandinsy” X
White Zig Zags. Kandinsky. Peggy Guggenheim Collection. Venice.
Below is a link that gives some insight into how synesthesia affected Kandinsy.
I realise that it really is great to be able to think more like myself now I work less. But because I understand my own Fairground better with age it doesn’t necessarily help me to decode Kandinsky and his Fairground. He may not have had a fairground!
Will someone ever write a learned article about me mentally singing Gaudette and painting a Christmas bauble that looks like a blackberry.
I think not! Link below to the definitive Gaudette
Although this image uses a black and white filter the one below is untouched.
I thought my morning photos would be more pleasing. In addition to all the grey there were red buoys in the water and a red-hulled tanker. It took an awful lot of digital tweaking to reveal the red photographically.
Fortunately my day was not monchrome but the colour did come from an unexpected source.
This was the November book for the bookclub I belong to. It was not my cup of tea.
My bookclub meetings are a monthly highlight. The chance to talk about a particular book, as chosen, and all the other books the group have read is wonderful. November’s book was devisive. I think it would be fair to say no-one enjoyed it in a pleasure sense. But that sometimes reading a book that is a hard and at times uncomfortable read is an experience to be treasured for different reasons. I have included a review of the book if anyone is interested.
A book that the book club struggles with creates the most fascinating conversations. A roomful of women with vivid and different life experiences makes for the most wide ranging and thought provoking discussions. We trust one another and share intimate and personal reminiscences that inform and influence how we feel about the books we read. Despite the book being a bit of a hard graft and not particularly my thing the benefits of reading it with a group were huge and our two hour meeting bought colour and texture to my day that the weather was clearly not going to do. I was a little over-caffeinated but I think I kept a lid on my gabbling. Others may disagree.
The caffeine continued to rule my day, and half of the night. I arrived 24 hours and four minutes early for a performance with a choir I have joined. So in answer to todays prompt for bloggers…
Have you ever performed on stage or given a speech?
Yes , of course, but not last night. In other news the target object of yesterdays blog is up in the bathroom.
This top image is contrary. Yesterday bad weather and serendipity took us to Tavistock market. A place of colour and bustle, but also these beautiful white meringues.
I had found a Belle Epoque mirror on a second-hand site for a very small amount of money. An early morning drive to Tavistock would give us the chance to collect it and walk the dogs on Dartmoor.
The weather had other ideas, and by the time we hit the moors on our way to Tavistock we were in the worst sort of rainstorm. The dogs still needed walking but as luck would have it Tavistock has an ancient covered market.
Somewhere we could browse and people watch, and the dogs could stretch their legs and enjoy the mixed smells of market life. I am a sucker for the market vibe. I love the juxtaposition of colours, smells and people. Throw Christmas into the mix and things could not get more fancy.
Tavistock is a market town that is traditional in every sense. Country people come into the town to stock up stuff that sustains them in their rural, and often isolated homes out in the wildness of the moor. Tavistock is a town where people wear country clothing because they need to, not because it is a fashion trend. Deerstalkers, the iconic hat of Sherlock Holmes are worn as a matter of course. This is the land of The Hound of the Baskervilles.
Tavistock market is the location of Butchers Hall, the roof is one of my favourite complicated photos.
As we are drawing towards the end of 2023, I thought I would just thtow in some other market pictures of the past year.
Only the middle one was taken at Tavistock y.esterday. The top one was in Bangkok and the last one was Hong Kong. All featuring food but I also have hats and slippers to share.
Hats in Tavistock.
And slippers in Venice.
For the serendipitous and fascinating love of markets.
What is something others do that sparks your admiration?
I spend my entire life in admiration for the skills of others. Even skills that I would never wish to have. This picture is a case in point. How do people become App designers and what skills does it require. My life is enriched massively by Apps and yet I know nothing about that career choice.
App design could not be further from my skillset and yet with the use of Apps on my phone I have managed to create a ponder out of this one picture. Just by googling and exploring my google picture file more fully than I usually do.
We came upon this ornate back gate, in Venice on one of our meanderings. I wasn’t sure how to weave it into a blog or if I would ever use it. But it enchants me so I googled the name over the gate and a blog emerged. This blog is all delicious serendipity.
In a gorgeous twist of serendipity Claude Monet had been here before us, in 1908.
The front entrance of Ramo De Ca Dario
Like me Claude was a little reluctant to visit Venice.
I don’t know what Claude’s reluctance was, mine was caused by a particularly smelly visit many years ago. The visit had shattered my illusions but I am so glad I returned and just like Claude I am already planning another visit. Which takes me back to App appreciation. My phone can tell me exactly where and when I took this photo.
It can also show me all the photos that I took nearby.
This just blows me away, I can be incredibly lazy. My phone tells me there is an App update. I usually diligently do a download and think no more about it but App uploads are not just about better functionality. Sometimes really useful new features appear. The little black dots mark out the photos I took on one particular day and the route of my 20,000 steps. This is such a useful tool for planning future visits. So much more to see…
Just as I was beginning to despair of the ever shortening days made shorter by bad weather, the sun came up. Not only that, my long dog walk of the day took in quite a bit of rust.
So sunshine and rust immediately altered my frame of mind.
My absolute favourite colour combination occurred on a resting gig.
Rust and the colours of Greece
Unfortunately the public toilets were not open on my arrival. A little disappointing if I am honest.
But as luck would have it I still have a thirty year old Radar key which gives access to disability toilets so I never quite got to the rather desperate tone of this message. So I was able to deploy another message on a block.
I have no idea what the point of these boulder messages are, quick research has garnered no explanation. But here is one that expresses my need to get out of the car and actually walk the dogs.
Using all the ones bathed in sunlight is a small blogging victory.
Sunrise, a flat tide and good weather is one of my favourite things to photograph. It starts the day well. I pulled this one out of my archive. The last few days have been dull and very wet. Thank goodness for sequins and festive-season appropriate clothes.
If the weather outside is Frightful
But my sequins are delightful
I will glow, I will glow, I will glow.
I discovered lurex when I was about 5 and performing in a ballet school performance. Wearing twinkly fabric became a secret passion. I am drawn to anything with a bit of twink or metallic embellishments. The clothes of the disco era made my life complete. If I had an ounce of entertaining talent the world of show business would be my twinkling oyster.
Failing that being a host or bar staff at a glamorous gay club would be the perfect career choice. Every day is a sequin day. Drag Queen, for obvious reasons, is an unobtainable goal. I am already a woman, no strapping required.
As things stand in the real world December is my month to shine.
I have a tiny twinkling capsule wardrobe. Four items that can add pizzazz to the day plus a vintage fake tiger fur jacket.
December gives me a pass to sparkle on a daily basis. Doing every day things wearing a little bit of twinkle lifts the spirits . Dog walk in a sequin skirt, obviously I am just walking the dogs before a lunch date. Cryptic black T-shirt how normcore is that?
Maybe this is the point to remember Shane McGowan of The Pogues.
Fairytale of New York
It was Christmas Eve, babe In the drunk tank An old man said to me, “Won’t see another one” And then he sang a song “The Rare Old Mountain Dew” I turned my face away And dreamed about you Got on a lucky one Came in 18 to one I’ve got a feeling This year’s for me and you So happy Christmas I love you, baby I can see a better time When all our dreams come true They’ve got cars big as bars, they’ve got rivers of gold But the wind goes right through you, it’s no place for the old When you first took my hand on a cold Christmas Eve You promised me Broadway was waiting for me You were handsome You were pretty, Queen of New York City When the band finished playing They howled out for more Sinatra was swinging, all the drunks they were singing We kissed on a corner then danced through the night The boys of the NYPD choir Were singing “Galway Bay” And the bells were ringing out For Christmas day You’re a bum, you’re a punk You’re an old slut on junk Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed You scumbag, you maggot You cheap lousy faggot Happy Christmas your arse I pray God it’s our last The boys of the NYPD choir Still singing “Galway Bay” And the bells were ringing out For Christmas day I could have been someone Well, so could anyone You took my dreams from me When I first found you I kept them with me, babe I put them with my own Can’t make it all alone I’ve built my dreams around you The boys of the NYPD choir Still singing “Galway Bay” And the bells are ringing out For Christmas day
Not all contemporary Christmas music is money-making goop. Link below.
theoldmortuary.design 