Lockdown 2 - Make, write, walk, repeat......

 

 

Forgive me if I sound a little flat. For flat is how it feels.

It is lockdown number 2, and I have run out of jobs that need doing that I clearly don't intend to do.

I realise now that the main goal for these few weeks is to get through them in a reasonable state of mental health.

 And to that aim I have three priorities

1. Make stuff
2. write stuff
3. walk

 

 Make stuff

 

I joined an on line art class; 'Where Drawing Meets Words' with The Royal Drawing School

 I wasn't sure what to expect, but the title felt manageable. 

 

Words and pictures, stories and illustration. 

 

I have long hoped to illustrate a childrens' story that I have written about a mountain, and this class seemed like a good step in the right direction.

The book 'Uncommon Genius' was recommended by our tutor as a guide to creativity; I ordered a second hand copy in 'GOOD' condition.

This is it. You can be the judge with regards the condition.

 

 

It tells me that creative people, amongst other things

• know where their talent lies and play to it
  
• make it shine
• stay loose
  
• are not afraid to fail
• need to know how to facilitate getting into their 'flow' state, where ideas are formed
  
• often travel
  
• have lots of projects on the go

All of these things less easy to achieve when locked down. 

 

 

We worked on the story of Little Red Riding Hood, making a storyboard as if for a book.

I had forgotten what a gruesome tale it is.

 

dead wolf in cardboard

 

 'Make a cardboard mock-up of one of the scenes, and then draw or paint from that' was the point at 

which I realised that I was not working within my 'talent zone'. 

I made a dead wolf, with stones in his belly. 

He is consigned to the bin.

I never did draw him. 

I did, however see how others in the class were able to make very realistic drawings and to visualise the lighting and shadows for their drawings. 

I am just not there yet....

I decided to make scenes from my mountain story instead. I was being kind to myself, and avoiding total failure..... putting sanity above risk....

I was happier playing with ink.  I made some very nice stones.....

Ink 'stone'

 

 

 My ink rain was a disaster. I blew ink across the paper with a hairdryer. It was a mess.

So I chopped it up, at which point it became something completely new.

 

My blown ink became snow scenes. 

I agree with the 'Uncommon Genius' book that every mistake has potential.

I am also reminded that working in an abstract way is my 'thing'.

 

So for now my story remains without pictures, but I have a direction of travel.

 

Write stuff

 

The writing element of the class was liberating.

Writing about a picture. 

Cutting out phrases from the writing. 

Turning these phrases into poems.

 

I chose to write about this painting by Victor Pasmore. We were asked to describe the scene and also repsond to questions posed by the tutor. Taking those written words and cutting them into phrases I formed a poem.

A Winter morning ( after Victor Pasmore “A winter morning” 1944)

Dawn. 

A paved garden.

Sun low on the horizon

warming the early morning sky

Tangled trees overhang a purple shadowed, dull green lawn.

Fallen leaves spill sideways onto the cold stone path.

Wind whistles in the whip-like branches

A hum of engines from the river beyond.

Indistinct grey-white objects hanging at the distant lawn’s edge appear misplaced. 

Sheets masquerading as headstones in the morning mist.

An upturned terracotta pot lying untidily in the corner wonders  

“why am I abandoned; 

almost invisible in this dark shadowed place?”

Birds on the clothes line and leafless woody stems perch patiently.

Waiting for worm time.

A balustrade enters, stage left

wondering who will pass this way today.

Later, when the warm sky has faded to steely grey

a man in a long tweed coat descends softly into the garden in brown laced boots,

causing the birds to fly away.

He passes silently through

the quiet

the ordinariness

the muted simplicity

of just another winters’ day.

   

****************

A lesson in observation, and ways to find words.

 

 

Walk

 

Which brings me to walking; one of the best ways that I know to find my state of flow, where ideas formulate and I can begin to create.

 

 

I walked in the winter morning light. 

 

seedheads

Stems on a winter morning

 

 I walked the streets picking up litter.

 

 

I walked on the beach picking up litter.

 

 

beach litter

stranded beach plant

 

I have walked more miles in the last month than in any other month this year.

 

The highlight of my walks was a murmuration of starlings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And where is my other half I hear you ask?

 

Well he is in trouble..... for leaving me alone in our bubble.....

 

 

Alone in a bubble

I am alone in a bubble

Other half’s in trouble

he’s left me on the shelf

all by myself

locked down

in Bromley town

while he’s on a plane

for ‘work’ (again)

it’s been so long

he’ll no doubt explain

Dubai, no less.

I must confess

I lack the will

to lie very still

on a posh sun lounger

in stifling heat

looking over my shoulder

for covid 

or corona

virus;

is it worse

here or there?

Do I even care?

Either way

I’m much better off

at home

alone

in this half empty bubble

Waiting for a needle

to release us

from this overrated story;

this year of purgatory.

Roll on 2021.

 

 

 

 

But I have got so much done while he has been away for just a few days.... 

 

I have nothing to do but make stuff, write stuff and walk......

 

 The art classes are over, but I am filled with new ideas. Christmas is coming and the gold paint is out.

 

 

 

 

 

I leave you with a poem/drawings based on a work 'Tremolo' by Agnes Martin, 

 

Agnes also liked a bit of gold paint, along with her pencils.

 

 

Agnes Martin| Tremolo| 1962

 

 

Tremolo booklet  (after Tremolo by Agnes Martin)

 

 

Tremolo   

(after ‘Tremolo’ by Agnes Martin 1962)

idea

ruler

pencil

mathematical calculation

 and a blank white sheet.

evenly spaced graphite journeys

with irregular endings

minor imperfections

unintended gradations

pencil lifting

border shifting

stop thinking.

a vision

of living

above the line

in happiness and love

___________________

________________________

I wonder how often she sharpened her pencil?

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wonder how often she sharpened her pencil?

 

Not long until we are unlocked.

Until then I'll keep walking.....

 

 

 

dinner jackets and gumboots - rural city living - this is Gore

rural city living

I am on call for a whole weekend. Something I have not done for a good many years.

Confined to town, within cellphone reach of the local population should they have need for a medical opinion.

So I will devote a little time to telling you about why I like it so much here, in the land of 'gum boots and dinner jackets'.

'Rural city living'.  Now there's a contradiction if ever I heard one. This town only has a population of 12,300 people, so I am not sure where the term 'city' fits in.

Gore is rebranding itself, and not everyone is happy about it according to the local newspaper.

I have seen a lot of boots, but no dinner jackets.

Muddy, dusty gum boots and leather boots. Respectfully left outside the doors of shops and cafe's.



Houses in the town are small and inexpensive. Mostly bungalows. No two the same.

Street view

Gore clock tower

Many locals are farmers and farm hands or they work in the enormous abattoirs and in the dairy industry out of town in nearby Edendale and Mataura.


People here don't have 'tennis elbow'; they have 'grubbers elbow', from 'grubbing' weeds and a similar condition of the shoulder from 'cupping cows' .

I talk to people who spend all day on 'the chain', dealing with animal carcasses day in, day out. One man washes kidneys all day every day, and has done for 16 years. These are hardy, uncomplaining people.


It is a quiet town. Tidy and spacious. Proud of its floral displays.

No marigolds here.

My drive to work is down this road, and it is normally about as busy as this.

City?

Not in my opinion.


The biggest building in town is the Cremoata building. No longer in use, it has historic status as a grain mill that brought prosperity and porridge to the town.

It is a category 1 listed building, and dominates the town.

Cremoata, Gore

Now much of the land that produced grain is being turned over to dairy farming.

The railway no longer takes passengers.

Gore railway station

Main Street, Gore

I like it here because of the peace and quiet, the space and the friendly people.

……..the cinema where folk eat ice cream cornets


………….the streets where people smile and say 'hello' to strangers


Over this weekend I have learnt that

• the library closes at 1pm on Saturdays 
• most of the shops and cafe's do too

Which left me reading my book in the sunshine in the garden in my house near the graveyard overlooking the hills that I see from my window every morning.

Gore cemetery

So what do people around here do for leisure?

On a weekday evening in summer they run up those hills that I see every morning from my window.

sport southland

I walked up, and that was hard enough.

But this weekend I stayed at home with chicken and enjoyed the sunshine.

chicken and I

I think I may buy a house here.

There's one for sale just down the road. 

Just opposite the green space where I tried to learn to run, in order to keep up with the locals, until I injured my ankle……..

a bit of culture on a sunday afternoon

walking the dome

What to do on a Sunday afternoon after the dog has had her muddy walk in the country?

That was the dilemma facing other half and I on the sunniest day of the week thus far. Over lunch I pored over the options for exhibitions and galleries in London. Manet? Tate Modern? White cube?

Each had good reasons for rejection ...........too busy.............exhibition that I wanted to see not yet open..............not something OH would enjoy................... I was not getting enthusiastic vibes for a trip to London. Going by train to London at the weekend has less appeal to those who do it every day in the working week.

Then I remembered.........we haven't taken the sky-ride over the Thames. I half heartedly mentioned it to OH and before I knew it we were off on a mission to ride in the air on a sunny afternoon. No trains required; we would go by car. We checked it was open and within half an hour were parking the car underneath the dome on the Greenwich peninsula. We mused over the NCP parking meters that need £13 in pound coins on a weekday. Who ever has that many pound coins handy?

I am ashamed to say that I have never been to the dome before. Not liking loud music I can't do pop concerts, and have never had good reason to visit. But here it was, right in front of me, with a group of tiny people battling the wind, climbing over the roof for the 'millennium dome experience'.

On we walked past buildings that looked like they have popped up from somewhere on the continent.

Peninsula architecture

We arrived at the cable car station.

Just one thing missing. The cable cars.

Nice birch trees though.

In the half hour since we left home the rides had been cancelled due to high winds.

So we took a stroll down to the river bank and admired the view. OH remarked that the view looked quite rural. I can only assume that he was referring to the reeds on the river bank. Or that possibly he needs new glasses. But we did get to see a bit of art in the form of a giant metal sculpture.

sculpture 

On from there to take a stroll through the dome. What a soul-less experience that is in daylight. One chain restaurant after another. Tex-mex versus pizza versus steak. Or if you really can't decide go to Jimmy's, where they have everything.

covering all options for the indecisive diner

We explored Nissan world with interactive badges. Almost cultural if you are under 10 years old.

not quite in control.....

OH drove and spectacularly crashed a car into the safety barrier ( at 30 mph) , and we didn't book a test drive in an electric car.

After all those new and exciting experiences it was time for a cup of tea. And home for a quiet Sunday evening reading the papers. Next time I shall go straight for a London gallery, train or not. But at least I can now say that I have been to the millennium dome, even if it is 13 years later than most people.

give a dog a bone

Dog and I didn't get out for a walk today................... dog is not well and can barely walk. She has been lying down all day, and even forgot to ask for her morning treat of a chew, which she never forgets. She couldn't make it across the room to her bed in my study, and collapsed in a heap on the floor, so I left her there as I cannot lift her up.

That has meant that I have had to occupy myself in different ways and have been incredibly useful around the house.

I have......

• painted a rotting window frame
• planted some flowers to replace the dead geraniums in the garden
• sold a camera to a delightful young man in London by email and phone
• done the ironing ..........something I rarely do
• taken dirty dog towels to the launderette for a good wash
• bought some milk so that I could have another two cups of tea
• ordered a dog ladder for dog to get into the boot of the car as her ageing legs can't manage the jump any more ( and wondered why a satisfied lady customer on the website praised it so very highly or even bought one at all when " her dog doesn't need it yet"?)
• ordered some vitamins for the dog in the hope of a miracle recovery
• given the dog slightly overdue worming tablets and flea treatment ( feeling guilty after other half sent me an email this morning saying "look up Lyme disease in dogs"...........)

Which leaves me wondering what I will do and how I will pass the time when the dog is no longer here? I really missed my walk, and got a little frustrated with Colin behind the till at Marks and Spencer, who tried to chat and insisted that it wasn't a very nice day outside. I begged to differ. I had almost hung my washing on the line it had been such a lovely day. However apparently it will rain tomorrow, according to Colin, which pleases me greatly as I shall be at work.

Getting dog to take her tablets was as amusing as ever. The worming tablets are now "bone shaped". Being about 1cm long, they bear very little resemblance to a proper bone. They also come with a major design fault; they are not bone flavoured, something which might have been a little more useful than making them look like bones suitable for a small mouse to enjoy. 

I tried feeding them to her straight; she spat them out in disdain

I tried hiding them in her evening meal; she left them at the bottom of the bowl

I wrapped them in butter ( this usually works) but she knew what I was up to

I wrapped the butter blob in a piece of bread; she spat that out

I covered the bread and butter with some gravy left in the fridge ....................  SHE ATE IT ALL UP!

She is improving now, and has managed to get to the kitchen twice this evening to check that I haven't dropped any food on the floor whilst cooking. 

Hopefully by Wednesday we will be able to get out for our fix of leaves and good smells, otherwise I may have to go without her.

Inspired by Bill Bryson on a walk in the woods; a little more on litter

pillow talk © Caroline Fraser 2012

I missed my train to London on Sunday, as I got caught up with my self imposed automated directive to photograph each discarded cigarette packet on my short walk to the station; there were at least seven, along with some papers from the House of Commons 1983 blowing around in the gutter. I picked one up, and then wondered why I had, and put it in the next litter bin. I don't plan to extend this project to include government papers as well as health warnings.

As I strolled I pondered on this mild obsession; I recalled the graduation lecture given to my first born at Durham University a few years ago. It was given by Bill Bryson, who entertained and amused graduates and proud parents alike. He had three pieces of advice for a happy future

1. Never let anyone stop you from doing what you want to do in life. 
2. Don't moan; no one likes a moaner.
3. IF YOU SEE ANYONE DROPPING LITTER.............SHOOT THEM!

These words have stayed with me, and I whilst I haven't got involved in the campaign for Rural England's  campaign against litter and fly-tipping that Bill Bryson supports, I do spend a lot of time noticing what people have dropped and feeling concerned that our local woods are full of plastic bottles and sweet wrappers. Local volunteers do a great job  of picking up the litter, led by a delightful man in his late eighties who leads them into battle with his litter picking stick.

I  wonder how long the pink pillow that I found in the undergrowth will remain before someone clears it away. It lies just a few feet from the path, and as I walk with dog, I ponder on how it came to be there, and why the owner didn't want to take it back home again. I imagine creating a story book full of short tales based on the items found on the ground, or a photographic A to Z of found items. Was it an innocent romance, or something more sinister that brought the pillow to its resting place.

fragment © Caroline Fraser 2011

And what about this small fragment of cloth; what story does it tell?

butterfly © Caroline Fraser

Or this pink butterfly that cheered me on an otherwise ordinary day?

Any suggestions for a storyline gratefully received; I am still hoping that a poem might emerge from all of this pondering; but as you can see it is not possible to get bored on a walk in the woods.