Being an artist fills my head with turmoil and my heart with light.
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I stumbled across this today, quite by chance, through a link that showed up on my stats – my project Colin of Alaska translated into Japanese! I’d love to know how well it translates ……
I’m not exactly sure that I know precisely what a tenter-hook is, but I’m on a few. I was musing that I seem to spend a significant amount of time in a state of heightened anticipation. Maybe it’s an artist thing.
Waiting to hear about things; searching, thinking – all the time; looking for opportunities; will it work? etc., etc. I like to think that I stand on the positive side of objective, but dreaming is as essential as air.
A beautiful morning is a good start to the day.
Sunshine, clear skies, a gentle swell to the sea, and large islands of smooth, flat sand. What is it about these pristine fields that is so appealing? I’m not sure I know. There is, I think, a sense of excitement – mixed with something undefinable. Like with a blank canvas. Next is the sensation that comes with looking back – and seeing a set of footprints.
As I drifted off last night, I listened to the whooing of high winds around the window. Now and again, the rise and fall of the wind played a taut wire into a gargling screech. I could imagine this sound (were I truly disposed that way) to be some shrivelled thing, screaming with frustration at not being able to get inside. If there are monsters, they are sometimes other people, and those we make ourselves. I recall falling asleep with infinitely sweeter visions in my mind.
I stood making coffee this morning, still dark outside. In those last few moments of night before the sky begins to lighten, I heard the most beautiful birdsong coming from the garden. It was clearly a tiny bird, singing with enormous heart: a loud, long, melodic song.
Back in the studio today to (hopefully) finish with the messy black stuff. Last time, in spite of all-over overalls (is there any other sort?) I once again managed to get paint on a perfectly good white t-shirt. Also, because I didn’t think I needed gloves on both hands, my right hand was well and truly spattered (which I could see), and then I walked home through the streets sporting a number of spectacular beauty spots (which I couldn’t see until I got home).
How many artists does it take to change a light bulb?
I am proud to announce that we now have the definitive answer. It is four: one to change the bulb, one to hold the spare, one to hold the stepladder, and one to hold the dog.
I hoard ideas that interest me for reasons which may be elusive, like a face that seems familiar but which I can't quite place. My practice is an exploration of these ideas.
