Sketchbook pages from February 2017
Stuck in the mud
I can either fall on my back and get coated in mud or fall face first. Can’t remember the last time I did that. Don’t want to remember the last time I did that. This is not a good place to stop, but I have lost my nerve. I don’t want to have to wrench my spectacles from a bog, but here I am: stuck, attempting to talk myself into moving on. A lap around the park, I told myself, will do you good. Then I decided to cut across the land…. Why is everyone else sticking to the path? Well, now I know…
This is not an analogous tale. I really am stuck, physically (and mentally) here in the mud. Then I start to laugh, making my predicament that much worse. I must stop laughing as I am losing my balance but this is the best amount of fresh air and laughter I’ve had in weeks. Stop laughing or the falling over will be real
Now a magpie laughs at me from the top of an ancient tree. A dog’s bark gets nearer which means people are approaching. I do not wish to be observed, seen for what I am, a daft middle aged woman who has decided today to go for a stroll through a bog… Later, I might sketch myself as a tiny dot in a vast sea of wet green, but for now I must not be seen, ridiculous…. I have to make a decision and move with an out-of-character confidence and get to the top of this slope. A dog comes bounding toward me and my heart is racing. The sky is forget-me-not blue. That’s why I decided to come for a walk today: after weeks of grey I had to put myself out here, beneath the bright sky. I look toward the higher horizon, a tangle of crows. They are what make this space special, they and everything.
There were days before when I could walk about this park thinking I really was in the middle of nowhere, and find myself happily lost. But over time a place becomes familiar, and I have learned how to judge where I am by reading the trees and pylons. I know now that any walker is never too far away from another. There are days when I wish I could have the park to myself, selfishly, like the giant in his garden.
I shift, free myself from the quagmire. I sprint uphill, splattering my legs with fresh mud, giddy with victory. I did not fall. Walking with purpose, I find a concrete path and stick to it.
Back through the woods now, heading home, I note the snowdrops growing through bleached autumn leaves. I do not stop to take a photograph, but just to look and catch my breath. They have the right idea, I think. These snowdrops. They make an appearance and are admired for their simplicity and refinement. Then they sleep for the rest of the year. There is nothing human about them at all. They have no ego, no fear of falling, no desire to have the place to themselves. They are what they are, nothing less, no striving or dithering.
Sketchbook pages from February 2017
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From POSTCARDS I WILL NEVER SEND
( a small collection of poems inspired by my collections of vintage postcards and more)
Weather Here is Fine
when it is not trying to be the weather.
We think by the week’s end the weather
might be over the hills and far away,
but for now it sits comfortably in a corner
minding its needlework, a little worse for itself.
Then tomorrow if the weather is enough
we may go to the coast
and never mind about it.
We might walk up the hills,
weather depending.
Not too grim at all, actually.
Like a fairy-tale, except for the weather.
Well, you can’t have everything.
Hope the weather holds.
Hope the weather holds us close.
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Recent sketchbook pages
I shall be continuing on with my postcard themed works for the rest of this month. So far, I have enjoyed working on the smaller paintings and drawings, and especially the postcard books, so I am very grateful for the interest. I am grateful to know that people have been interested in purchasing the books, especially and of course I am adding just one each week which means that there are a few disappointed people. I will consider this and may well be dedicating a month to all things ‘bookish’ - perhaps Bookish April? With book themed paintings and more artist books. March is most likely going to be a month of mixed media works.
So yes, this year I am organising my time month to month - with something like a theme to guide me through each one. We shall see how this works out over 2022.
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Such an enjoyable read. I'm sure I've been in that muddy predicament before and thought ' Why does this only happens to me?!' Now I know different!
I especially love how you put into words those secretive thoughts that flood the mind at a time of self-consciousness! Being stuck in a bog is suddenly something I, too, can feel and I sense the looks of passers by who wonder if they should lend a hand or pretend not to notice to save you from embarrassment. Ah, we humans have developed an incredibly complicated system to adhere to, when laughter is always the best medicine!