How have you adapted to the changes brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic?
Unbelievably pre- COVID-19, I would never, ever, have considered plunging into the sea here at least once a week. Plunging into the sea in all weather and conditions would never have crossed my pre-Covid mind. It has become almost a ritual and one that has more benefits than I could ever have imagined. For some inexplicable reason swimming in cold water has made me braver in other awkward or challenging situations. Rather a positive change that I am very grateful for.
What are your morning rituals? What does the first hour of your day look like?
The first hour of my day looks a lot like the picture above. Until the tea ritual, blog ritual and coffee ritual have been performed. These three regulars can all be compressed into half an hour or extended to an hour and a half. There are side rituals like loading the dishwasher or washing machine. Today in particular I need to be alert to April Fools Day jokes. I am a gullible soul and I have friends who are very adept pranksters. Last year I called at their home on April 1st. As I pulled at their door bell it came off in my hand. I harrumphed at once again being caught out and took their doorbell home with me as a punishment.
Only to discover that I had broken their 100-year-old doorbell mechanism.
Technology has changed every aspect of my life in millions of different ways for millions of years.
How has technology changed your job?
Any job I do only exists because of technology and is easier than it was last year or even last week because of evolving technology. But as someone who writes or draws I could take a trip to Lake Turkana and use a sharp flake of stone and write or draw on a rock surface just as I would have done 3.3 million years ago. My tech gadget, though is letting me down on this one.
You might not think that a lovely old chair and my favourite type of weather are connected. But they both occupy liminal space in my mind.
Derived from the Latin word “limen” which means “threshold,” liminal space is a concept that may sound unfamiliar, but it’s something you’ve likely experienced in your daily life. Liminal space can best be described as going through a change or going from place to place—from one thing to the next.
I like the weather of May and September. Slightly changeable with the chance of moderate warmth and no need for too many layers of clothing
Perfection would be twenty minutes in a chair like this. With a small mug of black coffee or a cup of tea. Sat at an open french window overlooking the sea or at a garden that is not screaming for attention.
A chair like this in gently warm weather would encourage me to read or listen to the radio or a podcast. Or natter. This is not the time or space for TV or devices.Possibly something gently productive like sketching or crochet. Or maybe I could just be. Twenty minutes of not much in particular.
Too many to mention but sometimes the most influential teacher of the moment is the last person I spoke to. Always so much to learn from others. Particularly this week as I have curated a Print Exhibition in a Gallery Cafe.
Here it is, on the morning after the night before. Spic and span and ready for the coffee and art-loving public to flood in.
Last night was a hubub of bubbles, and artists/printers/art- lovers having ernest, fascinating and sometimes wildly inappropriate conversations.
What did I learn last night?
That if I just shortened my beads they would sit better. They do.
At long last the sun came out, sunshine replaced grey rainy day, after grey rainy day . On and on the greige days just kept coming until these vivid stools finally got a moment in the sun. Soon enough the stools filled up with happy basking humans. I looked up the phrase ‘ at long last’ . It rather sums up my feelings about this winter.
Sunshine, you have come back at last!
What was the best compliment you’ve received?
Knowing that people take time to read, comment on and enjoy this blog . So many conversations are sparked. Just as if we were sitting on these seats, warming our faces and staring out to sea.
I’m not a naturally anxious person, so predicting anxious feelings is hard for me. Anxious is the soft and distant relative of anxiety which is an entirely different thing. Anxious moments are fleeting but give me a moment to check and reflect on whatever I am about to do. The anxious, anticipatory feeling of butterflies in my belly is one of the great ‘ tingles’ of life. One of the loveliest feelings is the realisation that anxiety was not needed. A sensation that is like seeing the prickles of a horse chestnut, but only experiencing the gorgeous brownness of the conker and the delicate softness of the conker’s bed. The experience, confidence and reliability of life makes the anxiousness quite unnecessary.
Yesterday I mentally berated myself and was a little anxious for forgetting to publicise a regular artist meet-up. One that I had helped to instigate in the post-lockdown period. I imagined sitting at a vast table all alone, like billy-no-mates. Just me and my paints for two hours. I needn’t have been anxious. We have been doing this for nearly two years, every second Thursday of the month. I needn’t have worried at all. As 10 o’clock approached artists started arriving, big bags of creative energy in their arms. The table filled up, three extra tables were needed and even with the extra tables, people were squeezed into almost non-existent gaps. Every surface was littered with creative paraphernalia and the cups and plates of artists needing nibbles.
The vast, industrial-sized space was filled with the noise of people sharing news and knowledge. Some people never even manage to unpack their projects because the talking and exchanging of ideas becomes the most important thing to do.
My little moment of anxiousness was quite unnecessary. As it usually is.
My random blogging suits the way I ponder life. Back in January, I followed a challenge to accept a prompt every day and incorporate the prompt into ponderings. Initially, I dreaded the prompts but 31 days of a very dull month, with prompts, taught me a little bit. By using the prompts WordPress shares my blog a little wider than my usual small group of followers. I have since gained a few more. There are prompts available year-round and I suppose I use about 1 a week in ordinary circumstances. So it is unusual for me to use two in a weekend. I was about to ignore this morning’s prompt but it could work on Mother’s Day.
Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.
Congratulations old thing, you made it to 100. 100 years of being an imperfect human, mother, grandmother and friend. Following a delightful female inheritance of not being a stereotypical perfect woman. Sometimes barely even making the grade of ‘ good enough’ which was exactly the standard you set yourself.
Enjoy 100 and beyond, Perfection is over-rated.
Xx
I have two children and three grandchildren. I have been the oldest woman in their maternal line for nearly 30 years. So not just their mum but the oldest woman in their Matriarchy.
Just like beautiful weeds they did just fine, better than fine as we muddled along with no elder wisdom.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers who just make it up as they go.
In the nineties, I had a colour assessment. It was a nineties thing. The whole experience was really interesting and very positive Fabric swatches of myriads of colour shades were placed on my shoulders along with metallics from the whitest silver to the warmest bronze.
I was assessed to be a Soft Summer person. The experience pushed me to think about the colours I choose to wear. At the time and until fairly recently I wore a uniform for my work so not so many hours in the week to exercise free will.
There was one problem with my assessment. I didn’t feel like a soft summer person. I felt more vivid than that. I don’t remember the other categories but in my own mind I am High Summer with a splash of black. The other problem is that row of blues. Beyond denim and navy I cannot ‘get’ blue and blue does not ‘get’ me. The nineties moved on and the colour swatches slipped to the back of the draw. Out of sight but not out of mind. Until the menopause when my hormones ebbed away and being vivid faded to black. Which coincidentally was the unofficial uniform of the academic art world I had slipped into.
The nineties are a while ago. Colour assesments are back, in the hands of brilliant young women, and some men who want to help women and men feel confident in the clothes they wear. Instagram is the place to go for their wisdom and inspiration.
30 years on and the fashion world and me are in a very different place. I always dabbled in the joy of a charity shop find but now second-hand or pre-loved is the way I go for the good of our planet and because it suits my creativity. Less is more.
Which takes me to the question of the day.
Where would you go on a shopping spree?
After 6 years of being hugely more mindful of the planet when buying clothes or decorating my home. I would almost certainly decline the offer of a shopping spree in traditional box-fresh or brand-new environments. A second-hand furniture warehouse or house clearance depot would be my thing or a different town with the best second-hand shops. An eBay scroll is as close to a giddy shopper as I get Not so much a spree, more of a meander.
No longer in my early thirties, I have embraced Soft Summer. Apart from the blues. I still can’t get on with the blues. Flashed of vivid and black replace the blue line. Soft Summer in the tropics, perhaps. Funny how something I did on a whim 30 years ago has sat in the back of a drawer and the back of my mind, never really a guiding thought,but always right all along. My many fashion faux pas were always off the chart!
Sprees, they are not for me. But a meander, looking for a preloved gem of gorgeousness. That would do very nicely thank you.
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