1. And just after yesterday's post I look at George Szirtes's blog and find his musing on selves: does work self plus other self (dreamy, imaginative, feeling self) = writing self? and is that why I don't write or even think creatively when I do too much work and there is not enough time for standing and staring? how do other people do it?
2. On a related theme, on the local news- a man built himself a castle without planning permission, then lived in it for 4 years hidden under hay bales and blue tarpaulin. They didn't even let their child go to school on the day he would be asked to paint 'my house' in case he painted a blue hay stack and gave them away. And now it is revealed, the council says they must pull it down. What will happen?
3. A misty, murky, wet, cold, muddy morning walk with the dog. I try to tune into my 'other self' by concentrating on my body and how I feel.
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
Gaps - and how to fill them
1. More gaps. These are definitely linked to too much work, travelling (even to see nice people), and uncertainty about the future. It is hard to pay attention to the world around me, and inside me, when I feel tired and anxious. On the other hand I know I feel better if I make the effort, so I should always try to make time to do this blog - even if I do nothing else creative.
2. Some images to fill the gaps- a drive down Rosedale in the snow and sun, stunning views all round us. Klee in monochrome - the snow showed up every line of stone wall, every outline of abandoned settlement. I'd have done a quick sketch if it hadn't been so cold.
3. A programme about Joan Root. At her funeral the husband who left her starts to cry. I am starting to see my life in outline.
2. Some images to fill the gaps- a drive down Rosedale in the snow and sun, stunning views all round us. Klee in monochrome - the snow showed up every line of stone wall, every outline of abandoned settlement. I'd have done a quick sketch if it hadn't been so cold.
3. A programme about Joan Root. At her funeral the husband who left her starts to cry. I am starting to see my life in outline.
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