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I have often asked, of specific people, and of the world, through social media, “How do people cope with the world if they aren’t artists?”

It is a genuine question, as my response to atrocity and cruelty and everyday, ordinary nastiness is generally to shut myself away and work.

Shutting myself away is important. It sort of keeps me safe… (can of worms in itself)

Yesterday I told Facebook I was going away for a while. Those of you that know me as the Social  Media Whore will be astonished. But I can’t cope with it. I am emotionally unable to cope with the shit-storm of reaction to the awful attacks that happened in Paris. Not least because there’s this addendum of “oh, yeah, and Beirut, oh yeah, and Baghdad…” I find I am even troubled by people turning their profile pictures to the eiffel tower version of the CND logo. I am troubled that some people don’t know of its true, very specific, significance and call it “the peace sign”. I am troubled by the washing of profile pictures with the tricolour of France, as if this protest only matters now it is happening in Western Europe… Of course I have sympathy, of course I think it is a terrible terrible thing that these very few people have done to so many people. Of course, of course, of course…

But cruelty and atrocity happen every day all over the world. Everywhere, every day. I can’t watch the news, I can’t read the papers. I have not done so for many years now. I am uninformed, as opposed to misinformed. The media, ruled by very few, with a very self-interested agenda, are skewing, misinforming, misleading, manipulating. I have chosen to be uninformed. I am deliberately naïve. I am purposely idealist.

I am cloistered. My world shrinks while I process and deal with these things. My work is about people, and their affect on each other. I choose to look upon this from a positive angle. I could stitch and sing with blood and hatred. But I don’t think I would survive very long. I choose to look upon the ordinary, the loving, the sympathetic, the kindness, the lasting effects of love. Small amounts of unmeasurable kindness have huge unmeasurable effects.

One of my songwriting collaborators (The Pianist) has taken himself, his van, a load of materials, and his useful practical skills to Calais to help build shelters for refugees before the winter sets in. A week out of his life to take action over injustice and cruelty. The practicality might be measurable, but the effects of this kindness boundless.

http://brufordlow.tumblr.com

Another wrote a song about worn out shoes. Not a practical task, no. But hugely important. An unmeasurable thing. One song among so many. But this Bass Player is out there all the time, singing the song, or supporting others to sing their songs. He is ubiquitous around here, supports so many other bands, writers and musicians. What he provides is soul food. He makes life magical. Human. There is a sublime ordinariness about him. I’m picking on him as a representative of the artists and musicians who go out and do it…

https://soundcloud.com/davethebass

Art and music are ever present. In Paris galleries, and in the makeshift camps of Calais, and in the worst places humans exist. We strive for the pinnacle of philosophy and feed each other’s souls. ART IS IMPORTANT…

So what do I do? I shut myself away. That seems no longer enough. So now what do I do to make sense of the world that will also spread a bit of love and kindness? My work lies packed in boxes for nobody to see.

I may have to make changes… but how to do that while protecting my emotional strength and mental health?

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I love how words move their meaning around. Like a living thing.

I have often been known to quote Terry Pratchett. I think it comes from having had a teenage boy when Pratchett was at his most prolific. I read the books after my son, or at the same time as he left them about the house. One of the great things about TP is the way the books mean more, the more other stuff you read. And the other stuff you read has a light shone on it by TP… Oscar Wilde, Shakespeare… Jane Austen… Conan Doyle….

I digress, but a common theme in Pratchett is the power of words (“The truth shall make ye fret”). Moveable type is considered dangerous, as it is thought the metal remembers the meaning of one thing, when being rearranged to make another.
(I love this… It fits with my work so readily!)

About six months ago I wrote some lyrics….Thanks to the training of my songwriting mentor Dan Whitehouse, all my written ideas are dated and titled. Even if they are written on my phone or on the back of an envelope, as soon as possible they are transferred to my handwritten notebook and organised. Even if they consist of just a rhyming couplet. I think this is why so many of my songs have single word titles, because their conception is sometimes small and insignificant, a key word is used, and sticks.

Anyway… I digress again…
Six months ago I wrote this song, well the lyrics at least. I thought it was about the small amount of words it takes to wreck a relationship… The title is “Five Words” (not one word, and not five, but two).
It turns out to be about something slightly different. The five words uttered end the relationship, but are now spoken by the other party. They have moved to a different mouth. I prefer this. It is stronger. The truth is suddenly exposed, the fog has cleared…
The words have moved, their meaning has changed. The song is a living thing. As I sing it (my wonderful band mates have found the perfect melody for it) my emphasis is different. It’s now not sung with a sad heart but with a chin held high and determined. Excellent news.

A note about the handwritten notebook: In the absence of pen and paper, I have spoken into my phone, or tapped the words into my phone notepad, but nothing works quite as well as real ink to real paper. It has to be ink. Pencil is too easily erased. Ink in the wrong place can be crossed out, but remains there, either to be resurrected for use in the missing bridge or chorus (I’m crap at writing choruses, they interrupt my narrative)… Or they might be the starting point for a different song.
There is also that direct connection from brain to page… A creative stroke, mark making… Often a word is chosen for the way it looks on the page, handwritten, not just for its meaning. I like that.

At songwriters circle this week, Jonny said he didn’t like my opening line for the song “Jealousy”. He didn’t like the word “droop” in the line
“My eyelids droop, but I won’t go to bed”
He said it jumped out, jarred… Disturbed….
Other options? Closed, fell…? No. They drooped. In that way eyelids do when you battle sleep.
Being disturbed by a word can be good… It puts you on alert for the next thing… Keeps you awake…

Some words pin down exactly the feeling you want…. Until of course, they decide to change their own meaning while you’re not paying attention….

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Being awake when everyone else is asleep is called insomnia.

It’s just a different cycle. Some nights I get five hours, which seems to work ok, if you add an hour of lazy reading one end, and lazy breakfast eating the other, seven hours rest in bed is within the normal range I’m sure. Sometimes this is three hours. Sometimes two, three hour chunks, with a cup of tea in the middle (don’t go on at me about caffeine, in personal tests this makes absolutely no difference at all). It seems to me, looking at things such as middle of the night facebook activity, I’m not alone. There is an argument that looking at these shiny devices doesn’t help. The shiny device hasn’t woken me up, the shiny device provides quiet, contained, productive activity during periods of wakefulness, so I don’t wake others.

Among artists and musicians I know, this state of being is so common you might as well call it normal. For many, the lifestyle led is so haphazard that sleep is welcomed when it comes, and other things done when it doesn’t. We go with the flow it seems. We occasionally have afternoon naps.

Being asleep when everyone else is awake is called lazy.

Others can try to be helpful: I’ve been told by certain people not to have an afternoon nap, as I won’t sleep at night. (I’m not three years old.) I’ve been told don’t drink tea or coffee, don’t eat cheese, eat my main meal during the day, do yoga, go for a walk, have a bath, count backwards from 100, breathe properly…. Everyone has a solution to my problem.

Apparently my reluctance to do all these things means I’m just being silly. I bring it on myself. It’s attention seeking. Actually, it’s the opposite of that. I don’t want a cure. I’m not asking for advice. I don’t want to medicalise this. Sometimes I’m tired. So are other people. Most of the time I’m fine, most of the time other people are, sometimes they are tired and irritable. I don’t tell them their breathing is all wrong. I wish I’d never said anything, but while I was in a proper job “not sleeping very much” was an issue.

I am a lucky “insomniac” in that I now don’t have to be up and alert at 06:45 every weekday. I can follow my natural pattern for the most part. That works for me. I’m less tired when I can do what I need. Less tired when I shake off the need to conform to a societal norm.

So I have decided it should become a mission to find another word for insomnia. I don’t have a sleep problem. Actually I do ok now I’ve stopped worrying about it. I look at the clock now… It’s 05:40. I got up at 04:25. I’ve had a cup of tea, listened to a recording from yesterday and written some notes. And I’ve written this. I fed the cat and let her out. She doesn’t have a problem with that. I may read a little afterwards, then possibly go back to bed for a couple of hours. I wake at 04:25 refreshed, I shall wake again at 08:45 refreshed too I expect.

Sleep well, dear reader, whatever the time is!

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I once overheard someone say that it was impossible to be a serious artist and a mother. The horrified listener asked sarcastically “can I have a cat?” And the answer came “ideally, no”. I am however, many years later, able to see her point.

Now, bear with me, this next bit might sound dreadfully selfish, but I come good in the end, promise!

Last weekend my eldest son got married. In the weeks running up to this I had been berated on a couple of occasions for forgetting. The Mother of The Groom was not supposed to do such things! I was supposed to be thinking of posh frocks and flowers! I did no such thing. I really did buy the first outfit I tried on. Nobody believes me, but I wanted to stop having to think about it as soon as possible. My decision to not wear a hat was made not just out of the fact I look like Margaret Rutherford in a hat, but also because I’d have to find one I liked. I hate shopping. My head was most of the time, elsewhere.
My work at the moment threatens to be all consuming. I long for it to be all consuming. I have days blocked out in my diary saying STUDIO until Mike reminds me I am supposed to be elsewhere, or have an appointment. The solid post-wedding studio week hasn’t happened. Next week is also blocked out, but other things have started to encroach upon it. I’m thinking of telling everyone I’m on holiday in Italy and can’t be reached.

This week, our cat is ill. She is 18 ish years old and can’t keep her food down. We pace and worry. And wait for the vet to visit.

The business of art keeps me away from the work too, to a certain extent, even when I’m at the studio, disturbing my state of mind and equilibrium.

I am an introvert living in the body of an extrovert.

I dream about living in a lighthouse on a rock…

But then what would the work be about?
Real life fuels my work.
The cat, ever skinnier, perches on my husband’s lap, purring loudly as he strokes her. She stares lovingly up into his face as he talks to her.
This man, since retiring, is basically running everything so I can keep my mind as much as possible on “the job”.
My family tell their friends about my work (and even tout me about to get me work). They turn up and cheer.
The wedding last weekend was an amazing event, “curated” by the new Mr and Mrs Thomas as an expression of their life, love, and belief. I, of course, cried. We all did, what the hell, go for it!
Next weekend we have another, smaller, family occasion. I will bake cakes and cook meals and make the tea and chat and be sociable, live in the outward parts of my head.

The conversations I have had, the love and care I give, receive and see around me, even the irritations and conflicts, feed my mind. I am grateful for them. The ideas are stoked up, stacked up.

But the “Holiday in Italy” beckons… Sometime soon these things will spill out, words must be written, things made, stitches and sounds weave their way though. I will make sense of the events and relationships, and through the work, gain perspective and balance.

The resulting work, hopefully, will then become something else. I don’t know what yet. I just have to make it and see what happens.

So, yes, in many respects, not being a wife, sister, mother, mother-in-law, friend and cat owner would enable me to spend more time in the studio. But I have no idea what the work would be about… And I probably wouldn’t like it.

PS Esme (the cat) is much better now, phew!

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(By the way, I know a few people regularly listen rather than read, but would appreciate feedback from anyone new to doing blogs this way – thanks!)

I’m not quite so scared now.
I’ve got the looper up and running. I’ve figured out how to loop, record, overdub. I know how to save and name each project. I have constructed five separate loops to build one song. These are pre-recorded, then I can manipulate them and sing the top line over them. It works well and I now feel that like this, I could independently – after more practice – take it out for solo performances.
I have yet to get myself sharp enough to record the loops live as I go. This requires a lot of concentration, coordination and practice. It would be good to be able to do that, as I think it does add another element to the live performance. But it isn’t crucial at the moment.

I’ve been reading Sonia Boué’s account of her performances. They are very different to mine. She talks of the difference between acting and performance art and the nature of reality in each. I have yet to decide how performance fits with my work. I feel as if I’m still gathering data and skills.
I feel I am collecting the ingredients and practising the craft. I am talking to an audience, weaving a story, attempting to deliver in a way that conveys emotion and enhances the narrative. I am still unsure whether the narrative is purely in the song, or whether I am more of a part of it. Am I presenting the art, or am I part of it? Am I a performance artist, or a singer songwriter? With the recordings done for Nine Women, it was easy to present the sound as part of the installation, it fitted in my head happily. The performance I did for the opening event was more a celebration of what had been done than a piece of performance art. Definitely singer songwriter, definitely not performance artist.

I feel I have not yet collected enough data and ingredients, nor have I practised the skills enough, or done enough performing in order to be the performance artist.

You know when a young student produces a drawing of a person, and then says “it’s like a Picasso” in order (so they think) to excuse the proportions and lack of skill? Well, I think, if I were to label what happened between me and an audience at the moment as “performance art”, it would be like that. Picasso had great skill and knowledge and chose from that great range of experience to paint how he did in later years. I am collecting what I need in order to make those decisions, and I’m not there yet.

Where I am, actually, is brilliant. I am playing with my friends, I am learning from their experience. I am writing and singing and acquiring many new abilities… And lots of expensive equipment. I’m getting feedback and advice on technical stuff, and the musical elements, of which I know little. I feel like a sponge, soaking it all up.

I have confidence in the fact that this will affect my work. It is already affecting the quality of my writing and recording. So I am sure that at some point, I will have a piece of work that requires me to use this new stuff in my head. The new stuff in my head will affect the output. It’s just a matter of how and when. In the meantime, keep watching…

There might be a few gigs happening soon…

and maybe an album…