15 one minute poses and various others

we had a male model today

I'd guess he was about fifty, he had skinny arms and legs, a floppy paunch and was totally hairless (waxed or shaven? I couldn't tell!); after my inevitable struggle with the difficultl and some manky pieces of masking tape (I still haven't purchased my own tape, so I used that left behind on the board of the difficultl from a previous student) that kept unsticking - thus my paper kept coming off the board and skidding to the floor and floating to the other side of the room - I managed to listen to and follow the tutor's instructions. . .

• we were told to follow the contours of the outline of body
  
• we were told to imagine our pencil-line was a bandage wrapping around and around the volume of the shape before us, and spiral around and around going in and out of every nook and cranny of the man's shape
  
• we were told to draw what we saw without looking at the paper
  
• we were told to look at the vertical and follow this thru, to see how the body moved away from the vertical (you know, that thing you see artists do when they hold a pencil vertically up in the air in front of them? it's to check the vertical, the imaginary plumb-line) (apparently)

using these various techniques, we spent 45 minutes each on two different poses, 15 minutes on three different poses and then the model posed for a minute in each of fifteen different poses and we had to draw really really really really quick sketches of each pose. . . I found those super-quick poses by far the most interesting, as he made the most fascinating shapes with his body - far more interesting than a simple standing pose or a seated one

I still get the proportions of the body all wrong: the forearms in one sketch were too long, the belly in another too wide, the neck too short; I'm learning how to manage and convey on paper "foreshortening" (when the main part of a limb comes straight towards one, and thus is virtually hidden by the knee or elbow); sometimes I didn't get the head at the right angle - it often compensated for the weight of the rest of the body in a pose, you see, how he held his head; I didn't ever quite get to grips with the angle of thrust in the legs, nor were the angles of the various curves of the back quite accurate (strangely the tutor never commented on my interpretation of the model's penis and scrotal sack! perhaps artistic licence is only allowed in respect of a model's nether regions. . .)
.

however, since I'm there to learn, I followed the tutor's instructions, and wasn't worried about creating a "nice drawing" as she put it; at one stage she complimented my work and pulled one sketch of mine out to use as an illustration for the group on what one achieves when one does what one is told (I'm not good with compliments, as you know, and don't like public recognition particularly - which is odd for someone who writes in this manner, altho I don't think of you lovely lot as "public", more as dearly loved friends) (yes, you too vicus)

overall, I found myself not only looking at the model's body, but becoming sidetracked the shapes of the spaces between his limbs (sometimes it's what's not present that is the most interesting: a little like the HOLES concept in the Hepworth from earlier this spring, if you remember that far back) and it was sometimes tricky to think purely about the line and the volume and the contours; I also became obsessed with drawing his back and shoulders, as I've decided that in the longer run I want to draw angels and I'm going to need to understand where wings might come on a torso in relationship to the shoulder blades and the spine and how an angel would carry the weight of those wings. . .
.

time flew by

.
I was distracted for a whole three hours and also had a nice chat with someone more bonkers than I am over a piece of flapjack in the coffee break
.

:-)

this afternoon I think I'm going to try and nap - something I rarely do during the day, but I'm listening to my body and it's crying "I'm tired" at me. . .

.
I hope you have some moments
of R&R
in your day

I know this pain Why do lock yourself up in these chains? No one can change your life except for you Don't ever let anyone step all over you Just open your heart and your mind Is it really fair to feel this way inside? Some day somebody's gonna make you want to turn around and say goodbye Until then baby are you going to let them hold you down and make you cry Don't you know? Don't you know things can change Things'll go your way if you hold on for one more day Can you hold on for one more day? Things'll go your way Hold on for one more day You could sustain Or are you comfortable with the pain? You've got no one to blame for your unhappiness You got yourself into your own mess Lettin' your worries pass you by Don't you think it's worth your time To change your mind? I know that there is pain But you hold on for one more day and break free the chains Yeah I know that there is pain but you hold on for one more day and you break free, break from the chains Some day somebody's gonna make you want to turn around and say goodbye Until then baby are you going to let them hold you down and make you cry? Don't you know? Don't you know things can change Things'll go your way If you hold on for one more day, If you hold on Can you hold on? Hold on baby Won't you tell me now Hold on for one more day cause It's gonna go your way Don't you know things can change Things'll go your way If you hold on for one more day Can't you change it this time Make up your mind Hold on Hold on Baby hold on
..

WILSON PHILLIPS

from a different back step

altho I have no garden, in the traditional sense (I do have a rather splendid roof terrace and a small but perfectly formed courtyard) other houses in the street I where I now live, and that backing onto it, do

(have gardens)

there is a tiny oasis of green (clearly visible from the roof, given that the trees and lawns and shrubs are surrounded on all sides by bricks and mortar and on one by a towering concrete jungle)

ah! the birdsong emanating from this little patch of heaven. . .

a joy to listen to, from my new back step in the four-high-cornered bijoux courtyard of my new home (picture to follow) (but don't hold your breath)

(the courtyard has a little scrap of sky high above, if you look up, for a roof - it reminds me of a miniature prison exercise yard during the day, but at night I turn the fairy lights on and the small space is transformed. . .) (I digress)

other sounds are different - I'm probably not even half a mile from the rented house as the proverbial crow flies (altho given my proximity to the river, it's more likely to be a seagull) but the planes seem to be much much higher on their flight path into Heathrow and I can barely hear them

the underground trains going overground on the tube line, high up on its many-arched perch behind the houses on the other side of the street, rumble past in a very reassuring fashion (the house doesn't even shake); at night, the lights in the carriages and the sparks from the wheels flash at me from the gaps inbetween the houses - as if flickering some message or other into the bedroom mirror

there is no screaming teething baby (that I can hear anyhow) in the house next door; no un/happily moaning Downs Syndrome boy or his ever chirrupy sister and their very patient parents in the house on the other side; no primary school playground filling up with noisy children and their bell-ringing teachers behind; no short-cut traffic driving at speed along the street in front

it's quite quiet actually

apart from the trains and the birdsong

old endings and new beginnings

Trouble is her only friend and he's back again
Makes her body older than it really is
And she says it's high time she went away
No one's got much to say in this town
Trouble is the only way is down, down, down
As strong as you were
Tender you go
I'm watching you breathing
For the last time
A song for your heart
But when it is quiet
I know what it means
And I'll carry you home
I'll carry you home

If she had wings she would fly away
And another day god will give her some
Trouble is the only way is down,down,down

And they're all born pretty in New York City tonight
And someone's little girl was taken from the world tonight
Under the Stars and Stripes

As strong as you were
Tender you go
I'm watching you breathing for the last time
A song for your heart
But when it is quiet
I know what it means
And I'll carry you home
I'll carry you home

..

JAMES BLUNT

Did I disappoint you or let you down?
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.
So I took what's mine by eternal right.
Took your soul out into the night.
It may be over but it won't stop there,

I am here for you if you'd only care.
.
You touched my heart you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.
I've kissed your lips and held your head.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

I am a dreamer but when I wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I am the mother of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.

I know your fears and you know mine.
We've had our doubts but now we're fine,
And I love you, I swear that's true.
I cannot live without you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

And I still hold your hand in mine.
In mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bear my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

I'm so hollow, baby,
I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.

.

JAMES BLUNT

true colours, in a black and white world

You with the sad eyes don't be discouraged
Oh I realize it's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you can make you feel so small
But I see your true colors shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colours, true colours are beautiful
Like a rainbow

Show me a smile then don't be unhappy,
Can't remember when I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up because you know I'll be there
And I'll see your true colours shining through
I see your true colours and that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colours, true colours are beautiful
Like a rainbow

.

CYNDI LAUPER

the art that yearned for me

my new painting is hanging above the fireplace

on the fireplace mantel is my Shaker Noah's Ark (a gift from XCH the xmas his salary doubled overnight, when we were living in the cottage by the railway line)

it is the most beautiful thing anyone ever gave me (apart from my three POVS)

and I think the art is probably the most beautiful thing I have ever bought

it was hanging in the gallery window for weeks - everytime I walked past it the light was different and the image changed

it is a very simple picture of clouds and seagulls flying very high, the clouds are various shades of grey and there are bronze tinges amongst them, the birds are very simple white slashes with minimal black detail - and the wonderful thing about it is that it is painted on stainless steel (mounted on a heavy white canvas box), the artist rubbed away sections of the clouds to reveal gaps in the paint with the steel behind; there are scratches which blur the edges of the clouds into the steel (a little like silver linings); when you walk past, or when the light changes, the bronze touches and the silver of the steel shimmer

dates

. .
in the old house, the family house, we used to have parties. . . one of my former friends referred to it as The Party House
.
we (it's odd, not being a "we" anymore) (dunno if that's a good odd or a bad one, it just takes a little getting used to) had various parties: birthday parties for people of all sorts of sizes as well as the POVS (new acronym for my Small People, given that one has been inches taller than I for a long time, the next is almost as tall already and the smallest getting taller by the day) (People Of Various Sizes) (a little like the ROUS in The Princess Bride), New Year's Eve parties, drinks parties, dinner parties, spontaneous "come over for Sunday lunch" parties, the occasional after-gig party. . .
.
I used to cook and entertain, enjoyed planning and preparing for people's arrival, just being able to cope on the spot and rustle something up from nothing and then be a Hostess with quite a lot of Mostess (how Abigail, *cringe*)
.

don't really do much of that now,
none at all actually,
and I kinda miss it. . .

.
but then again, none of the friends who came to those parties (apart from ONE) (well, TWO, actually) (you know who you are!) keeps in contact with me anymore - they are all still safely in Their Village and I am a couple of postcodes away. . .
.
yesterday Patrick (CBD) (Current Blind Date) (yes! I had another date) asked me if I was going to have a "moving in party" for the new abode and to be perfectly honest I'd be at a loss for whom to invite
.

that doesn't make me sad
.

it doesn't hurt

.
it's a reflection of the choices I made and the responsibility I have taken and where I find myself - the POVS are very nostalgic for elements of the old days (unsurprisingly) and often talk about the various parties and remember things like a window that was broken, the purchase of the patio heater, crisps trampled into carpet and Ribena boxes trodden on and juice squirting up the walls and dancing with grown-ups in the small hours and food that miraculously appeared as if from nowhere to feed a multitude of sudden and unexpected arrivals and splendid birthday cakes and such
.

those are the memories of childhood, eh

.
and the parties will be a memory I carry with me for the duration, altho perhaps I will find myself once again in the position of having parties - but that means making new friends. . .
.
. . .meeting new people is strange - when you have no history, little in common apart from a mutual friend (or two) and a similarity of circumstance and perhaps an interest (or three)
.

so, learned people -
how does one do it?
.
how do you date again,
having been part of a "we"
and then finding yourself
a single "I"

..
it's not the same as last time I was single - as a Teen, as someone in their 20's full of the confidence and brashness of youth. . .
.

it's difficult, perplexing, confusing. . .

.
more so than I had imagined; far more difficult than preparing one of my most favoured edible items to serve at a party:
.
take a date, remove the stone, fill with chicken liver pate, wrap in proscuttio and pop in hot oven for five mins, serve
.
and the other most favoured edible item? these chocolates (if I offered you one, or in craig's case lots, what would your choice/s be?)
.

.

Give a little bit, give a little bit of your love to me, give a little bit, I'll give a little bit of my love to you, There's so much that we need to share, Send a smile and show you care, I'll give a little bit I'll give a little bit of my love to you, So give a little bit, give a little bit of your time to me, see the man with the lonely eyes, take his hand, you'll be surprised! Give a little bit, give a little bit of your love to me, I'll give a little bit of my love for you, Now's the time that we need to share, So find yourself, we're on our way back home. . .

.

Going home, don't you need to feel at home? Oh yeah, we gotta sing

.
SUPERTRAMP

oil of cloves

I have been swallowing
pain killers
by the bucket load
for the past two weeks. . .

not the emotional ones, some physical ones. . .
for head ache, face ache, tooth ache

I've been so busy with the Five Guys and their demands and the buildering, plumbering, electricianing, furniture and money disappointments, not to say the ongoing trauma of POVS and Xs, and so totally exhausted, in general, with putting on a brave face (ha ha ha) and soldiering on that I've put off the necessary evil

.
*note to self*
with your dental history,
do not put off dental visits

late yesterday afternoon I was lying on the sofa in agony and asked The Teen to make me a cup of tea (last time he did this he forgot to boil the kettle, so I mumbled instructions to him before he went into the kitchen - clear and explicit instructions, despite my face - and hoped for the best)

a while later (it was all a little bit of a pain induced/pain killer fog at the time, could have been hours) he brought me a cup of something that looked like filthy dishwater, but seeing as I don't have any other man/person at my beck and call in times of dire need - and that he isn't really "at my beck and call" - I didn't complain

g*d knows what he did with it, but when I had slurped my way to the bottom I found the tea bag and all the undissolved sugar

stupidly I swallowed the last mouthful and then it occur ed to me I could continue no longer

when I explained the effects that that last sweet dreg had had on my aching face to my lovely dentist first thing this morning (thank goodness for emergency appointments) he said "right then, I'll just take the root out NOW" and did his best

.
*note to self*
stop wearing mascara that isn't waterproof

it's started raining again; I'm thousands of pounds down, have no nice new furniture and lots of now useless cushions, due to the receivership issues; the Five Guys are doing far too good a job on my ramshackle new house and it's plunging me into the financial red; the new shower for the boys turned up on time, but the crucial part had been misdelivered and now I have to wait for the plumbing shop to sort themselves out; the whole house needs rewiring but I can't afford to do that; the burglar alarm blew on Saturday night and now all the new neighbours hate me, but altho it came close the house didn't burn down - the smoke damage was restricted to the cupboard containing my new bedlinen; and I'm totally overdrawn emotionally. . .

(which still hurts more than I
thought/expected/would like to be feeling)

. . .and all I can taste is the clove dressing that the dentist put on my mouth

in the medicine cabinet at home when I was growing up were various small, really old fashioned bottles. . . for mouth ulcers and tooth ache there were tiny bottles of Tincture of Myrrh and Oil of Cloves

funny how smells take you back

If I had to live my life over again,
I'd dare to make more mistakes next time.
I'd relax. I would limber up.
I would be sillier than I have been this trip.

I would take fewer things seriously.
I would take more chances.

I would take more trips.
I would climb more mountains, swim more rivers.
I would eat more ice cream and less beans.
I would perhaps have more actual troubles, but I'd have fewer imaginary ones.

You see – I'm one of those people who live seriously and sanely hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I have my moments. And if I had to do it over again, I'd have more of them. In fact, I'd try to have nothing else, just moments one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day.

I've been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat, and a parachute.

If I had to do it over again, I would travel lighter than I have.

If I had to live my life over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in autumn. I would go to more dances. I would ride more merry-go-rounds. I would pick more daisies.
.
attributed to NADINE STARR, aged 85

one thing I really miss

is cooking for grown-ups. . .

when a box become pandora's

five or seven?

GRIEF

I always thought there were five "stages", as applied by Kübler-Ross, to any form of catastrophic personal loss: job, income, freedom, diminished or no fertility, the death of a loved one, divorce. . .

denial - the initial stage
"it can't be happening"

anger
"why me? it's not fair"

bargaining
"what can I do to reverse the loss?"

depression
"I'm so sad, why bother with anything?"

acceptance
"it's going to be OK"

(Kübler-Ross also claimed these steps do not necessarily come in an order as above, nor are all steps experienced by everyone, though K-R stated a person will always experience at least two)

.

then mel pointed out, after my piece on LOVE and the Galaxy wrapper, that there is a case for seven:

shock or disbelief; denial; bargaining; guilt ("guilt comes is very close to bargaining; one tends to blame oneself in an effort to reconcile the loss"); anger ("when anger occurs in the grieving process we know that the person is starting to come out of it; all of the stages up to this one have been very inward responses whereas anger is more of an outreach"); depression; acceptance and hope (when acceptance and hope return this marks the ending of grief; at this point we understand that life will never be the same but we see hope and meaning in the future)

the nice thing about the seven is that, one works through it from the initial shock to eventual "hope". . .

I guess the point is that grief is a very natural process. . .

so, I'm grieving for the loss of two people, futures I might have had. . .

I'll let you know when the hope for future, without these people in my life and the potential futures I might have had, kicks in

(and bizarrely, as I type this
I'm on hold on the telephone
and one the most beautiful tunes I know
is playing while I wait)

Thank you for the days
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me
I'm thinking of the days
I won't forget a single day believe me.

I bless the light
I bless the light that lights on you believe me
And though you're gone
You're with me every single day believe me.

Days
I'll remember all my life
Days when you can't see wrong from right
You took my life
But then I knew that very soon you'd leave me
But it's alright
Now I'm not frightened of this world believe me.

I wish today could be tomorrow
The night is long
It just brings sorrow, let it wait.

Thank you for the days
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me
I'm thinking of the days
I won't forget a single day believe me.

Days
I'll remember all my life
Days when you can't see wrong from right
You took my life
But then I knew that very soon you'd leave me
But it's alright
Now I'm not frightened of this world believe me.

Days
Thank you for the days
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me
I'm thinking of the days
I won't forget a single day believe me.
I bless the lightI bless the light that lights on you believe me
And though you're gone
You're with me every single day believe me.

Days. .

.

KINKS

and while we're on the subject of days. . .

My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window and I can't see at all
And even if I could, it'd all be grey, but your picture on my wall
It reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad

I drank too much last night, got bills to pay, my head just feels in pain
I missed the bus and there'll be hell today, I'm late for work again
And even if I'm there, they'll all imply that I might not last the day
And then you call me and it's not so bad, it's not so bad and
I want to thank you for giving me the best day of my life
Oh just to be with you is having the best day of my life

Push the door, I'm home at last and I'm soaking through and through
Then you hand me a towel and all I see is you
And even if my house falls down,
I wouldn't have a clue
Because you're near me and I want to thank you
For giving me the best day of my life
Oh just to be with you
Is having the best day of my life

.

DIDO

.

and whilst we're on the subject of pictures on the wall, I'd quite like one, but I don't have one, so this is all I have to say on that subject:
.

10cc

.

apart from to add, I'd quite like this picture on my wall. . .

hope

the guys above didn't have it,
but the lot that survived did:

anyhow, that
wasn't
what I wanted to write about
.

at the weekend I went to the bookshop (one of my "how to survive a panic attack" distraction activities); I couldn't find a book on Hepworth, so I went to the poetry section and bought a couple of anthologies
.

I opened one at a random page this morning and found this:
.

"Western civilization places so much emphasis on the idea of hope that we sacrifice the present moment.
.
"Hope is for the future. It cannot help us discover joy, peace, or enlightenement in the present moment. Many religions are based on the notion of hope, and this teaching about refraining from hope may create a strong reaction. But that shock can bring about something important. I do not mean that you should not have hope.
.
"Hope can create an obstacle for you, and if you dwell in the energy of hope, you will not bring yourself back entirely to the present moment. If you re-channel those energies into being aware of what is going on in the present moment, you will be able to make a breakthrough and discover joy and peace right in the present moment, inside yourself and all around you.
.

"We don’t need the future. We can smile and relax. Everything we want is right here in the present moment."

Thich Nhat Hanh
.

*

and then I read something from Lao Tzu, which ended:

"know what is enough; be without disgrace;
know when to stop, be without danger"
.

*
.

and I realised something I have known all weekend, since Friday night:
.

I have to learn when to stop*
.

so that was kind of a small moment of serendipity for me
..

(*not blogging!) (yeah, you have to put up with me for a little bit longer)

Day Five.

Imagine a huge lump - a lump - of marble.
.

Rough and unhewn around the edges. It looks as if someone has tried and yet failed to cut it in two. Halves. Equals. A vertical cut, narrow - extending all the way over the outside of the stone - top to bottom - front to back - but not all the way through: one point remains unbroken on the very inside of the lump. The stone is large in height and width, but not breadth. An oval on its side, wider than it is tall - taller than you stand and twice as wide as the span of your outstretched arms.

Huge.

The narrow vertical cut is carefully made, the edges taper off to the left and to the right, they are not rough but are not quite smooth. The temptation to place your fingers within the crack and explore its width is great.

So you do.

You reach out and slip your hand horizontally into the gap - it is just wide enough, slightly scraping your thumb and your smallest finger. You let your hand travel up as high as you can reach and you feel the stone opening to the sky above your head. As you bring your hand down your knees bend, so that you move down in front of the space within the rock to its base - you can feel the slit disappear along the ground in front of you under the stone. You remove your hand and walk around the rock to the other side and repeat the process. Up to the sky. Down to the ground.

That is partially satisfying.

If you press the two palms of both your hands together you can put both into the cut in the rock - if only you could break it open! Reveal what is inside. You reverse your hands so that the palms face outwards and your knuckles knock together. You muster all the force of your body in your arms and pass the strength to your outturned hands - but you know this human force is not sufficient to break the marble lump in two.

Your exertions and unsatisfied inquisitiveness tire you. So momentarily you step back.

The rough lump of marble is in a low lying field. A flat, open field. Wide and long. Grass. Short. Some moss. The field is surrounded on all sides by woodland. There is no obvious track by which the rock would have been brought here. The trees are not densely packed. Deciduous. Spaces between each tree, but always another tree in front of or behind each space. There is undergrowth. There are brambles. No hedge or fence or wall separates the trees from the field. Whether the field was once woodland is unclear - there are no stumps to be seen in the field.

So, there you are. Alone in a field surrounded by trees, grass and moss under your feet, a large lump or rock at the centre of the field. The sky above, overcast.

And then the sun breaks through the grey clouds and lights up the space around you. And lights up the space inside the slit in the rock. You walk forward and you lean to peek in and you see the work of the sculptor quite clearly for the first time.

Within the rock two figures are reaching out to each other - one from each side of the cut, left and right.

They yearn to touch and their fingertips have just managed to make contact in the centre of the gap - whilst their bodies are held back, still within the unhewn inner stone. They stretch and strain to embrace each other - each head is directed towards the other - lips parted as if each wants to kiss the lips of the other and take in the taste - the sweet and the sour - the touch - soft and yielding, yet hard and uncompromising - the warmth, the cold, the dryness, the moistness of the mouth and the tongue of the other.

The eyes of one figure are open - startled and aware of the impossible and yet minuscule distance between them. The eyes of the other are closed in relaxation - knowing the closeness and near completeness of the joint desire.

For one the desire is sufficient to bring the both together - for the other the distance is sufficient to keep the both apart.

For you, the silent observer, there is no desire, no distance - just one lump of rock almost cut into halves, that a sculptor left seemingly unfinished but with a hidden secret: that you, with all the human strength and inner will you posses, can neither bring back together as a whole. Or finally split apart into two.

And only the sun's light lets you see inside.

whilst researching Hepworth, I discover this:

"During the late 1930s and 1940s Hepworth began to concentrate on the counterplay between mass and space in sculpture. In 1931 in Pierced Form (destroyed in the war) she first introduced into England the use of the 'hole’, and she now developed this with great subtlety, making play with the relationship between the outside and inside of a figure. . .

". . .In all her work she displayed a deep understanding of the quality of her materials and superb standards of craftsmanship. By the 1950s she was one of the most internationally famous of sculptors and she received many honours and prestigious public commissions, among them the memorial to Dag Hammerskjold-Single Form-at the United Nations in New York (1963). She now worked more in bronze, especially for large pieces, but she always retained a special feeling for direct carving.

"Hepworth died tragically in a fire at her studio in St Ives. The studio is now a museum dedicated to her work."

I can't link to the photos I took of Hepworth's studio, because they were stored on my old laptop (now gone) altho they did appear on the original ILTV (which some of you were familiar with, now also gone) - but perhaps, in the progress of my life, that will become one of the "holes" thru which I appreciate the inside and the outside of the figure?

and I did a lot of thinking when I was in the Head Hospital

and I made list after list of all the things that I still like. . .

. . .like the views!

and mermaids, and lighthouses, and sunset, and stars, and music, and art

there was a poster on the wall in one of the corridors of a Hepworth sketch that made me so sad because it reminded me of all the photos I'd lost when I destroyed my laptop and some of the binding designs I'd made last year; but it also made me happy - which was bittersweet - because I loved looking at it (it was the only good thing in the whole corridor)

and it made me think

because what was interesting about the sketch was not the lines or the fact she had put lines where she had put them - but the spaces between the lines that the lines made you focus on

the gaps

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I don't mean the clothes store or the Tube BTW

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the holes

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nothing hiding here, honest

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the empty sections

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no, there is nothing here!

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and that is when it occurred to me, that of all the stories I know - I only know the parts of the stories that I know, I don't know the bits that I don't know

and I started to think about some of the things that I don't know: the parts that have never occurred to me before - were their happy times in my parents' marriage? could I replace the images and photos I have lost with new ones? can I research Hepworth and find out more about her thinking

that sort of thing

and those thoughts were more interesting than the one thought I had gone into hospital with

and so, after five days of silence and refusing to speak or be spoken to, I picked up a pen and did some writing and then some charcoal and did some sketching and I also wrote down the soundtrack that I'd been assembling in my head and I started listening to some music again