coney noir

23:36 christmas eve

2011-12-24T23:37:00.001Z

The best thing that I have done today is to go outside this balmy mild blowy night, after eleven, despite feeling suddenly sad and hurting physically. The air wrapping, shifting around me. The dog enjoying a longer [in time not length] bedtime walk than normal. Standing in the dark realising how much I want to find words. To listen for them, to actively seek them, also to wait for them.

It didn’t matter that it isn’t wintery, that I am sad, that I hurt. I smile. But I could cry.

*

2011-12-19T22:35:00.001Z

in my memory of the future I put my hand onto the ground. A mix of mud and ice and snow and rocks. I can only feel texture not the temperature

Slip in mud until the world spins

[môr o goed | a sea of trees]

2011-12-18T18:29:00.002Z

huge waves lift and fall
trees bend and dance in the roar
or does the land move?

eyelids closed

2011-12-17T22:53:00.003Z

dance feet on floor weight

weight
ache to the ground
weight all body
into the ground let it
take it. Stretch until it
starts to break my
heart

listentofeeltomoveornottobestilltolistenwithwholeselfnotforaudibledecibelcountedsoundbutflickertightnesssensation

I want to feel something but please not too much otherwise the rest comes pouring in and I’m not sure my bucket is big enough and I can’t deal with a slippery floor

whydoesitneedtobecontainedheldupin?

ribs

2011-11-17T18:44:00.001Z

I could not sit any longer with myself, the bird inside had big wings today, it tried to unfold them and pressed hard against the inside of my ribs. So I poured a deep, deep bath, a pool would have been better – or warm salty sea. I suspect if I was doing body work along the lines of Arnold Mindell he would probably say I should have stayed with the sensation and observed it; as one would with meditation. But sometimes a little softness is needed.

And when the bird inside seems be a damn albatross a bath is a Good Idea.

another titw tomas las

2011-11-16T11:22:00.001Z

oh little blue green bird, little scrap of life. I cannot find how this one or the one yesterday got in. This time it hits the window so hard it falls to the floor. I hold it in my hands to keep it warm, I feel the aliveness. I sit on the window sill and slowly open my hands. Eventually it gets up, it sits beak open. It starts to look around. After about ten minutes it flies to the apple tree. Its right eye has been hit rather hard.

2011-11-16T09:52:00.001Z

light shines the grey twigs | illuminates the last leaves | as it slips lower

a bird in the hand

2011-11-15T17:26:00.001Z

A bird lies dead on the pavement. It seems all wings, a hint of head. Wings that are spread wide but with no flight in them; they rest on asphalt not on air. Those lightweight honeycomb bones to no advantage now on the ground. Perhaps the wind, a sharp breeze, may lift the little body a last time.

Earlier I held a blue titmouse in my hand; I opened the window, slid my arm out and opened my hand. It stood there a little time, then flew to the big apple tree.

2011-11-11T21:27:00.001Z

I have made, I think, the final edit of the work in the post below.
How does the process work?

I suppose there is a chance that I might fiddle some more.
At the moment there is some other stuff that cannot find form, why do I even continue?

suddeny I think of a section of writing from Stuff & Nonsense in Textile, Volume 3, Issue 3, pp. 220–249 by Claire Pajaczkowska

"In the spectrum of losses that structure life from birth to death the presence of cloth is a central signifier that differentiates nature from culture, and thereby remains forever liminal in its cultural significance. This liminality is held, like a smell in the meaning of the word “stuff,” a translation of the French word étoffe, cloth. It has become a term for generic “thingness,” unspecified materiality, in way that eloquently represents our ambiguous relationship to textiles that we experience as neither object nor subject, but as the threshold between. It is this quality of non-sense that makes textiles especially interesting."

so here I am leaving notes that might help me with some scribblings that I have not shared

work in progress [isn't it always?]

2011-11-03T22:39:00.001Z

trees winter lace edge the land.

sharp thoughts of the unpeace
unwillingness to negotiate, forever binary.
I lose faith.

feathered voles and tails of wrens
deep under the spit on the inside of my wrist
a wish for rolling clouds, black bellied, rent

splat
onto into
mud
uncover the bones
stark
white
smooth as the inside of my wrist

slice under the curtain brief winter light.
shatter in my eyes.
shard through blood to heart:
I will not hear the unpeace makers with such distaste.
salt sweet

but give me chicory, feverfew
tongue turning bitter
tone of voice shaped by muscles in my throat

the lump in my throat
whose words stick stop?
My words stuck?
Or
I cannot swallow their tale?

tail of wren, winter bird, bloodied,
found land to the west facing east where lies the edge
of man, ire and whale – tipteerers all

find the cure or is it death?
just three stones later, that is no olive branch.
a martyr’s palm more like

mark my skin where the mud lies dinted.
they think they cannot lose face but they are skewed
they need to throw the towel in
not that there is enough land to allow the walk away
I talk away but still it is lodged a stuck laugh choke
I think it works both ways doesn’t work both ways
slick sticky mud stuck
suck my wellieboot
I am sunk in my socks

spangles & low light

2011-11-03T13:42:00.002Z

low light through layers of winter flora.
mid morning the light scattered into the house as the sun hit the mirror balls and glass that hang waiting for winter light, a disco of spangles. the slight heat causes the balls to twirl on their strings. the small things that can make a difference to a day.
now I must go and check on the motley crew of new chooks that have recently arrived, all sizes, but all young. a mixed bag. some still very peepy like chicks. I hope they all made it into the hen house with the ridiculously heavy downpour earlier.
how soon it has become November...

hydref

2011-11-02T20:37:00.003Z

Summer come and gone - soft pink skinned roses bloomed in a big flush early then again in august. Usually I take the seasons as they come enjoy them for themselves, what they are. This year I have been dreading winter - is dreading the word? is it too big a word? Clocks change and the dark evenings are here. I have enjoyed the return of the fieldfares, the gathering of rooks and jacadaws...oh and recently the raven - cigfran. The winter flora - the dried out seed heads of summer abundance.

touch fragile light low seeping in as it never does in summer - brief but more direct, looking us in the eye, not making the head tilt up - reach out and touch, burn tips of fingers

2011-05-11T16:54:00.003+01:00

listen at the blackbird sing.
Some days I am so tired I can hardly think [there is usually one of two reasons - occasionally combined - for this] yet I try to think to do - perhaps I shouldn't. It does make me wonder how I can survive in the Real World, even if I can get through this piece of studying. What happened to the fit, healthy young girl? [ok not entirely fit and healthy, but at least mostly it seemed that way].

All green expansion outside, cow parsley frothing high, just the ash to fully expand. The dawn chorus is no longer the dense wall that it was - a change in just a few days. Still no swifts. I have heard of sightings of swifts and have seen them in Somerset and Brittany. But not here. To hear the scream to see the soaring freedom, just briefly the possibility.

Sun shines between cumulous clouds. Sky sky sky to fly in. Brisk breeze to lift the feathers of the wings. Breath.

blue green freshness

2011-05-03T19:08:00.001+01:00

may morning

2011-05-03T12:49:00.008+01:00

Starlit walk at 3.40 am.
a dawn chorus walk.
Birds heard: Sedge warbler, reed warbler, reed bunting, cetti's warbler, mallard (ducklings), coot, song thrush, blackbird, wood pigeon, robin, barn owl, willow warbler, blue tit, great tit, pheasant, canada geese, swan, blackcap, chiffchaff, wren, carrion crow, tawny owl, swallow, kingfisher, greater spotted woodpecker, jay, a wadery sort of bird in flight..., otter (ok not a bird but wonderful - I only saw the whiskery snout and bubbles on surface of river as it swam)

diary

2011-04-30T14:26:00.003+01:00

mistle thrush in the morning. cloud breaking up to sunny. blackcaps joined by white throats by the estuary. Italian alder catkins lie fluffy on the floor, willow getting there... sadly a dead fox - how did that get there.
Flies so many flies - house front covered by largish slim ones and one pair of st. mark's flies mating.
A small salad of polytunnel marvels preceded by an ice cream. Oh well.
Most beautiful bright green hornbeam seen from my window.

If only my knees had been up to it I would have walked the estuary to the beach. And to think I thought I could do a breton dancing workshop.
How come some people can bear their ill health with good grace and cheerfulness?

diary bits

2011-04-29T21:57:00.005+01:00

27
cool blue. cloud. no sun. should get up with the birds. would be good idea. chaffinch this morning heard. despite saying there were less

the plantains grow up in the cowslip meadow changing the sound of walking.

moths appear in a room with no windws open. they batter against a glass door that shuts them from the light. They are all the same. they must have hatched [they are not visible in the morning, maybe they were a haunting]

28
Pa mows the grass, paths rather than lawns, in the distance someone else mows too. the dog snaps at a blue bottle. I can tease him by making fly noises when he has been particularly frustrated by a fly!
He has vacated the sofa so I lie down to sleep

29
Do very little.
Sun finds it's way into to my room. My window faces north but is a bay window. just a hint this evening.
having been so tired i thought i would go to bed early - I have not. people are noisy outside the pub across the way. A wedding makes for a holiday. A long long weekend for some.

manifesto

2011-04-29T21:51:00.003+01:00

In another part of my life I wrote a manifesto - a given exercise, it was both funny and serious [a bit like life then...]

Mynd y tu hwnt i’r pwynt yma

Relax and assume the position (DEVO)

The word is y gair
The rabbit is y chwningen

I choose celibacy (before it chooses me) or at least meet it half way if/as I am a little late in my choosing.

No gendering is accurate

Purity does not exist (unless you want to talk chemistry)
Mud exists.
Comic sans exists. But maybe it shouldn’t.
Hierarchies, except on the page, should not exist.

Skin does not reveal inner beauty

Egg moons are the best moons, whether waxing or waning.

Don’t worry: when words confound resort to the body.

The words that speak up from the mangled bodies of human beings. This is the fallout that covers everything on earth now.
…
Fact is the train don’t come on time for nobody except those who should walk all the way to hell on their own backs.
(Kenneth Patchen 1971)

Go the beyond to the point here. I am itinerant.

They also serve who only stand and wait (Milton)

Are all your selves in agreement? (cLOUDDEAD)

skin spring

2011-04-26T15:46:00.004+01:00

blossom time again, unfolding, veined so like skin, so brief, heaping up like snow on branches tumbling down.
Thinking of skin, perfect imperfect thinking that when April is done and dusted perhaps I can fold up some more grief to put aside. But every day waking to renegotiate life and loss. When will it not feel like loss or does that just keep going on til one is lost gone dead? shedding shedding skin adding to the blanket of dust that surrounds us - the urge to be horizontal to muffle all the living. Wonder where the edges of the body are - they seem never to be as clear as one might like to image even in a concrete phisiological way.
So many small wonders float away on the wind, are never recorded, three swallows scuffle in the air then almost seem to hang there. The scent of apple blossom late at night, petals luminous on the ground

Wonder why on earth I embarked on a losing weight diet some 12/13 days before Easter....

not true beauty, a fantasy skin

needing a touch

summer solstice

2010-06-21T21:37:00.003+01:00

oh no and now we are tipping back to winter, to darkness. I wanted to "get myself together" by this topping point. failed, oh dear and so what to do. hear the ticktick of the birds, less song...soon soon that little ribbon of winter the robin with changed song will sound. he sneaks into July and brings a chill. inelegant manoeuvres of a middle aged woman in a flowery frock. And producing and showing ridiculous art...on home territory too - will I regret it? regret out of step ridiculous so much regret. orange sun sinks on me. girl girl insidescreams out at the hell of lost things and aging and lonliness. the child says the aloneness was ok then because later later there would be less but there wasn't. the time watching listening smelling touching drifting was possible because all the time in the world..and all the promise of a future. child blames woman. let down.
go to bed in clean sheets beside old ragged falling falling apart Bear. will Bear be allowed in the old people's home? the hospital? are old ladies allowed to have equally old Bears with them?

this world - a road to nowhere

2010-06-16T19:59:00.003+01:00

This world all too much; too hard, too sad. Outside two fragile chirupping blackbirds make their way into life, fumbling in bushes. Every time I hear their sweet sound I remember the sound of the one that was caught by the cat across the road...the same noise but louder more urgent...more shrill; then the parents alarm calls at the cat for some two hours.

I can't deal with myself very well, my anger, my sadness...my guilt at feeling sad when I have food, a roof over my head, parents. There is a feeling of dullness falling, resignation...hard to describe. Accept the futility, the loneliness. But then all the wretchedness in the world, the corruption. Government millionaire ministers that talk of getting people off benefit into jobs that don't exist, being hard on crime whilst women are brought into this country illegally for the sex trade and when they have the courage to go to the police get treated as criminals, illegal immigrants. Some come here so young. What sort of a country, world, do I live in? A country where people still hide that they are gay, where people of a different colour/religion are hated and feared. then there are those that think we are on the brink of a new consciousness, such a wild idea, like apocalyptic theories, I think all part of the human condition and and the desperate struggle with mortality.

Tomorrow I'll try and make something of the day...go looking for bee orchids, if my legs and back allow.
But right now I just feel like waiting with the swifts and when they fly in late July, early August, just stepping into the sea and swimming south south south. Oh the ridiculous state of being too scared to live to scared to die..no maybe not having much will to live, to live with joy. I just get bad tempered and angry with everyone. A close friend says well have you found somewhere to live in Bristol, when I haven't even sorted out if I can go. How would I find somewhere to rent now when I'll not go til the end of September? Do I spend money going to MA shows in July or save it to pay fees? How will I afford a computer? Could I do it without one?

Shall I go and see the sun set? shall I go to bed? Can't have a bath as nothing comes out of the hot water taps and the plumber has not returned in a week. I don't have to be here, but I need my space. My space to feel sad or cross. There is whole bottle of sparkling wine in the fridge... There's some tea in the pot. How perverse I am, sitting in a cold room on a sunny evening - although the clear sky is causing the temperature to drop.

Ah - a sigh for a warm sea to float in, for salt water to hold me to touch me, to feel my edges but feel contained and held.

ordinary and not

2010-05-30T11:52:00.004+01:00

I have seen so few swifts - hope to see more in the city...but a lack. Then I cross the Taf and see perhaps a hundred or more over the river, both ways, high, low...a couple come low over my head - I hear them but the traffic drowns most of their sound. Also ducks, gulls and a cormorant.

This morning a breakfast that I really enjoyed - oat millet flakes, cashews, sunflower seeds and blueberries with soya & oatly milk cocktail. Not sure why it was so good...but it was. Concentrate on small things. And just watching the world.

ruby slippers.....

2010-05-22T13:05:00.001+01:00

the red shoes (dancing, dancing) or dorothy's ruby shoes? Do I actually want either? Dorothy's shoes took her home....

hot

2010-05-22T12:39:00.004+01:00

the estuary roses are coming out. the bees have buzzing frenzies inside.

it is too hot for me today, I stay indoors mostly.

It will be a day when I know that I am in the public eye - I wish to veil my face. Unhappiness/dissatisfaction with body is so stupid so difficult. Besides the weight gain I now have little thread veins and often tiny spots - they are nearly invisible - on my left cheek. The thread veins are not going to go away. and two red scar type marks on the right side of my face. I don't think even Dr. Hauscha can help despite those promising (dispiriting) words I found two years back

will I just find misery in everything? I listen to the Dalai llama talking of honesty, truthfulness, transparency. Of accepting what is; if it really is that bad what's the point of worrying?

Today will be what it will be and I would like to have the goal of acceptance, but should I have a goal at all?

I had a wish this morning....but it's pointless, it doesn't make me feel any better.

willow - not the pussy/puppy willow fluffs and floats, baby blackbirds in a woodpile and in a huge huge rose bush, chirrup and suggest that they are maybe ready for the big world.

The grass has grown so fast.

blossom

2010-05-04T15:42:00.003+01:00

The joy of the sun coming out. And of seeing an apple tree thickly covered...but as I scampered to smell the blossom and take some photos my heart did a plummet...in moments like this I want to be someone there to share it with me. The wild, wild wind rushing a sand storm over the beach, the raw exhilerating wind from the rough white waves. The sharp blue sky. Oh and the sparkle, sparkle of the water on the sand rippling in the breeze, patterning in the sun. The new spring grass, waving all glossy, below sleek shiny rooks facing the wind out, taking turns at hanging in the turbulent air.

season to season

2010-05-03T21:22:00.005+01:00

I listened to Jung talking about death. he said something about not looking back otherwise you became old before your time, dry, died before your time and that one must look to the new day all the possibilities. There was much more I think I might have been going to say but I can't remember.

Then someone said yesterday that it was an act of will to be happy, to be content with life, to not feel lonely, heart broken etc. I know she has not the best of health but she has a studio a house a husband children grandchildren..and obviously discipline because she teaches yoga and has a daily practice. Me? I'm infertile, fat, over fortyfive. I have too many ideas, spread over too many fields and I'm getting nowhere. I've got nowhere.

Today I felt restricted because I don't even really have anywhere to work. My art stuff in boxes, some sorted, some not, piled up. I guess if I threw away half my possesions I'd have a little space for a few months, but the effort in dealing with that too much. A lot of my work is on the computer and I don't even have one of those.

Getting to be too frightened. What inspires me at the moment? Plants, birds...naming them, sharing the knowledge, learning more.

Tulip season changes to poppy season

I decide I haven't the will.
Bereft.

1. deprived: deprived of somebody or something loved or valued
2. lacking: lacking in something desirable or necessarybereft of new ideas
3. feeling sense of loss: filled with a sense of loss

Lack: we walk to fill a lack...that came up in an essay about a project I was involved in. We make art to fill a lack...
Wander...crwydro...though my head. Tired. The beautiful necessary bird song.

blossom

2010-04-22T09:50:00.007+01:00

Apple blossoms coming on the early flowering tree on the estuary (16th April) 2009; 2008. Quite late this year.

The sun shines through thin cloud. a mistle thrush and a willow warbler sings. but emotionally & physically i am a lead weight. I get cross at the dog - when I do the met readings he sits up the field and will rarely bring me the ball to throw, just looks at me with a hang dog expression; sometimes he brings it when I am reading the soil thermomenters, so easy for me to throw, but not today. I tried to be kind and walked up field to pick up, he wouldn't even meet me half way. I just don;t have the energy for that. But he doesn't ask much. I can't even please the dog!!

What is this weight? Do I muddle emotional & physical? Is it all just everything: exhaustion & a cold? Bach flower remedies come to mind...

On monday someone assumed I was pregnant, a devastating thing for me. A close friend has just had a baby and I tread on egg shells with myself, feel her delight. It brought out the hissing and spitting me mentioned earlier...and the the sad grief laden one, but I bit my tongue beyond saying "an impossibility" . I like wearing loose clothes, a lovely collection of old nighties and shirts, but become wary of doing so when I put on weight. My shoulders and upper chest don't look "fat" so belly big seems to mean one thing to people. Why make such personal assumptions with people you don't really know?

This is ridiculous too sad too tearful.

So many things to do in the next month. And I'll have a birthday.

fly away

2010-04-14T15:31:00.002+01:00

in the first of the the new Dr. Who series he says he will be back in 5 mins, the little girl rushes away sling a few things in a small suitcase including a Bear. Puts on her wellies, a coat over her nightie and a hat on.

I wanted for Bear & I to fly away, fly away to somewhere safe to indigo skies, therein to curl up.

how to proceed...

2010-04-04T10:46:00.002+01:00

I was at a funeral the other week. Someone very embedded in my life. It also meant meeting people I hadn't seen for almost 30 years: how are you? what do you do? married? children? where do you live now? OK, nothing, no, no, still here.

Also was reminded of L as one of the women who sang a verse for us at his funeral was two rows behind me...heavenly voice but sad memories too.

That morning I had woken very sad, a gentle happy dream.... but made me feel grief for things lost; then I felt guilty because there were others who had had a terrible loss, a mother, wife, grandmother.

So I rattle around in my self made cage. But I let the sun shine on my face yesterday, a warm gentle day - such a surprise after the cold breezes. Then I got angry and inevitably sad, and wondered if this is it, no such thing as happiness except for little moments of sun on cheek, never a hand ... blackbirdsong, snowflakes falling. Uncurl...then crush my finger nails into my palm.

can I spit it all out and make something of my brief precious life? Do I care? Would I rather sink into the bog? What does it matter?

The vocation of no vocation. Too hard.

pull your socks up

pull yourself together

get it together

if writing/saying it makes a difference to me... helps the unfolding...then it makes a difference to others; can't really be all that pleasant having a miserable person around, but then some of them don't realise.

how to feel acceptable...

tired tired tired.
smile: too tired too be angry right now.

touch

2010-02-15T12:02:00.002Z

Your breath slides silent * across this warm face at night * winter, my cold love

it's hard

2010-02-10T16:18:00.002Z

It's hard feeling stuck, nowhere to turn, to reach out to. Cold frozen stone, unable to be shifted...then it thawed. When will it thaw for me?

Sometimes it seems the walls are almost touching my eyelashes, but beyond is vast and barren.

fog...no snow

2010-01-20T21:53:00.002Z

damp cold fog. as we drive through the village I see peoples' breath in the air. down the road I see the mountain beside it a wall of fog filling the valley. we drive into that fog. such a heavy fog that it drips

watch the world

2010-01-19T14:34:00.002Z

I want to sit with you and watch the world

I want to sit and watch the world with you

spring waiting

2010-01-17T09:45:00.002Z

I hear a chaffinch sing and my heart falls apart. unbearable beauty and an inability to face spring myself.

And there is spring also waiting in buds, in the frost and snow.

blood

2010-01-06T22:58:00.008Z

It's just weird sometimes... I bleed, it can make me feel very unwell; it's just about being a woman, a female. But it's all so pointless. A constant reminder of the continuous measure of my infertility, and a more painful and prolonged than the average reminder, each month. Oh of course sometimes I'm in full acceptance of it...this is what it is, how it is. But some times I get caught out....maybe an extra pain, an unexpected pouring and I can feel quite desolate or angry or hopeless. Then there will be the menopause to look forward to.

Is it any good speaking the anger? Is there too much confessional therapy one can do? Sometimes it brings others with similar experience, with something to share. I don't know, I really don't know. There is some stuff I've written it feels like it needs to be said but to who? Perhaps I'll think about it then come back and make a link to it...

I think of all the snow and frost and how it makes me feel more me, how it feels right, how I can feel happy in it. Red & white... none of it makes sense, but maybe that's ok. Life is a paradox anyway, isn't it?

a web

2010-01-04T20:20:00.004Z

The entire chain is one. Down to the last link, everything is linked to everything else; so divine essence is below as well as above, in heaven and on earth. There is nothing else.

Book of the Pomegranate: Moses de Leon's Sefer Ha-Rimmon

to sleep - to dream of sleeping to dream of green leafiness

2009-11-24T10:33:00.002Z

looking through the green leafiness window another ways...

more on dream in green...

2009-11-15T20:17:00.002Z

I have failed dismally to say anything about this image and its specialness! I take a lot of images of reflections in glass and of white things... This one draws in the green leafiness of trees - I find it hard sometimes to portray trees as I feel them, it's the same with the landscape, they are both very important parts of my life, embedded in my body - and places in the coolness of a white summer house, a bed for resting, for dreaming, a place where the breeze could get in and touch the skin. Wooden and tin houses also are close to my heart. I am more comfortable with them than stone or brick. It is impossible to explain but often I don't like the place where walls go into the ground, espacially where the ground has some sort of covering like tarmac. I suppose it is almost like a phobia, I feel it physically, I have some idea of where it started, sort of when but not why.
SO...a lot in one apparently unremarkable image.

dream in green leafiness on white

2009-11-12T10:13:00.007Z

I haven't written for a while...the things I have nearly written might be too much to put out. I wonder sometimes if to just put the beautiful and the lovely and the happy here. But sometimes sharing bewiderment and anger with life can help...because others feel it too.

This image is particularly special to me I saw it, took the photograph and it was everything I wanted it to be. On flickr it hasn't had much notice...strange how different images appeal to different people.

soya hot chocolate

2009-11-12T10:11:00.001Z

makes for a lovely liquid breakfast...

soft light

2009-08-29T17:20:00.001+01:00

soft evening light in the summer

Macaroons at Y Mochyn Drwg

2009-08-29T17:12:00.004+01:00

hot chocolate mith montezumo chocolate and macaroons: raspberry, pistachio and blueberry. A lot more have been purchased since....

Y Mochyn Drwg

Market Street

Trefdraeth/Newport

Sir Benfro/Pembrokeshire

Waterloo Gardens Teahouse again

2009-08-29T16:50:00.004+01:00

another visit to Waterloo Gardens Teahouse

china breakfast tea

and gluten free cake.....

gently observing age

2009-07-26T19:38:00.000+01:00

blue blue dream

2009-07-20T21:17:00.004+01:00

once bitten twice shy but the beauty is beyond fear.

by Another Name, the gentleness, the wish to watch, lean close.

Oh a movement around sharper reflections and light and lines but inside something worth the sideways glance,

the moving, bending, almost dancing.

To swim with this, to float with this.

To dream Sweet Deep Dreams of Blue.

To wake to an orange glow of a sunrise, shimmering and a touch like a whisper.

evening

2009-07-13T16:56:00.004+01:00

the sun sets: and at this time of the year (this image was made in June) that means it re-emerges for a last shine very late.

although this is an image meant for someone in particular but I want to show it here, perhaps an attempt at gentleness and observation whilst feeling confused and anxious, not to mention sometimes very fedup with life the universe and everything...

Tea Time

2009-06-21T17:24:00.007+01:00

oh wonderful wonderful: a place to drink tea - but it's not near home it's in Caerdydd/Cardiff.
Waterloo Gardens Tea House.
Loose teas of great variety, soya milk available and a CHOICE of gluten free cakes. Of course nice salad too. And yes you can buy the teas. They come in a pot with a strainer so that you can lift out when brewed enough...and they let you know how long each variety of tea should infuse. So I had a Russian Caravan with my salad and a Darjeeling 1st flush superior with my gluten free raspberry and white chocolate cake....

other tea entries
there should be more but I'm a bit lazy... worth looking at food too, if you are that way inclined.

And a set of images cafe life plus a curious mix Lily & Tea

scent

2009-06-09T15:45:00.011+01:00

such a rich deep scent and at night it grows stronger. Fall into it, deeply.
.
.
.
.

tears from the sky

2009-06-09T15:43:00.000+01:00

touch : touch not

2009-05-24T18:01:00.003+01:00

I reach out to touch, fingers slip into light.

Yet it is not my fingers not my flesh fingers.

Because how could I reach out with them to touch something that is not touchable?

My chest aches, quivers.

Am I sad? Am I happy?

Prickly eyes.

gentle

so deeply tender

2009-04-29T08:26:00.005+01:00

.

dry

.

.

.

barren

.

.

.

.

.

so what shall I do to stop myself from adding bitter to the list? reacting very negatively to these feelings?

estuary apple tree

2009-04-29T08:19:00.005+01:00

apple blossom, my favourite blossom, perhaps just because it comes out for my birthday! I love the cuppedness of the buds, that remains until they are full stretch. And all the different scents.

These blossoms are from a tree that buds the earliest on the estuary. But even though the earliest blooms have fallen there are still buds.

Now I just wait for the swift/gwennol ddu to arrive.......

light, catching up with spring

2009-04-29T08:17:00.002+01:00

as the blackthorn is now fading the hawthorn - may blossom - is about the drape the hedgerows.

a little late in the day

2009-02-14T21:37:00.001Z

green trees and sky light on a blue car

my dark pillow

2009-02-11T10:25:00.001Z

quartz and ice

2009-01-21T18:58:00.003Z

finding a centre a balance, all able to be noted as mine, now not so disparate and loose that I don't know where I end, what is not mine. The centre balance found in one moment as I drew my toes in together and onto demi pointe, balanced, still still still, then I could feel it, now I can still feel it. It doesn't make pain go away it doesn't make me laugh more, but it means I know where I am.

each day is a new day

2009-01-09T10:03:00.001Z

fold up the old day, sleep wake to the new day.

simple...simply said, how about the doing?

peace on earth...

2009-01-09T09:57:00.002Z

a new year, more unpeace. it seems that civilization is only a fascade when I see Israel pound Gaza (and still rockets are fired back even from the Lebanon) and Russia turns off the gas because the Ukraine won't pay enough (yet they offer politically supportive Belarus a cheaper price). Power seems to prevail.

melancholy & wonder

2009-01-09T09:54:00.001Z

catching up with the end of last year - the second image is called Christmas lights through tears, many readings are possible!

'dolig llawen

2008-12-24T14:57:00.003Z

wishing the world peace and joy this midwinter - and shiny things

on and in

2008-12-24T14:52:00.001Z

I would like to be cat curled...

2008-12-17T20:19:00.003Z

...in sleep.

this beautiful image by greentiger 43 can be found on here on flickr

a bauble & tinsel

2008-12-17T18:53:00.001Z

alone - together

2008-12-09T22:14:00.004Z

SO.... a bit of contradiction going on in recent posts - one minute it's spill the beans and say we are all in this together next: we have to work it out alone.

What is the message? I only ask because I was asked, perhaps it needed thinking about.

When I read that paragraph in Moomintroll Winter it stood out, but it is cold and lonely. Moomintroll had been lonely throughout the strange winter of not hibernating, experiencing a whole other world yet in his world. Perhaps it merely is a paradox of life. Two things in one. The melancholy, the grief...even the anger, perhaps there is work to do alone; I do have to let the spinning penny suddenly drop to stillness, I have to feel it. No-one else can slap their hand and flatten that penny for me. But there is sharing, being there, knowing another. The stranger that I meet briefly, the people closest to my heart. Something about facing life/death together, sometimes without words.
Two sides to a coin.

curl curl curl, world within world, life within life.
Somewhere I hear a quote about there being another world but it is to be found within this world...where did I read that recently? Reminds of finding the kingdom of heaven within.

moomin land wisdom

2008-12-09T15:46:00.005Z

"....Didn't you understand that I was melancholy?"

Too-ticky shrugged her shoulders. "One has to discover everything for oneself," she replied. "And get over it alone."

from Moomintroll Midwinter
by Tove Jansson

a rose and the universe

2008-12-01T18:21:00.003Z

for _l

cold

2008-12-01T18:16:00.003Z

wonderful frosty morning. chase around with my new camera. more frozen rain with frost at first but about 10 when the clouds cleared again it became just misty, the humididty rose and drew up more white fronds. The garden is full of apples, happy happy blackbirds.

one day it will become too unsafe not too cry

safe

2008-11-24T22:10:00.007Z

is there nowhere safe to cry?

and the anger....he asked me in several times if there were words to my anger, took me to moments, but there were none; not a word in sight.

he doesn't want me to be stuck in resignation he wants me to find the clearer anger, that is if I can't move forward with plan b/c/d....p/q/r....x/y/z; because my body is showing it and it hurts.

Why do some of us take SO long to learn? it's probably all here, here in blogger, all those lessons learnt, unlearnt, confessed, revealed to the world. Does it help to make it "public"? We are, after all, all in this together....

I don't need to delve into the stories/experiences of my past just deal with the emotions NOW.

Stiff upper lip? the smiling mask so that no one knows? But not if it knots up inside.

The Bridge

2008-11-05T08:07:00.006Z

The Bridge, originally uploaded by mp3mpk.

his blog

bridge

2008-11-04T21:47:00.005Z

I have just seen a photograph on flickr, you can see it here, it made me feel so sad. I thought of snow (I love the snow) as I looked at it and at the same time it was quintessentially autumn, a season that I consider very creative. But my heart sank and I felt my mouth my eyes change, my chest, shoulders....I looked at it and thought I don't want to cross any more bridges, especially not slippery wet leafed ones.

Am I not brave enough?

oh and I have been away from home for 6 weeks....

small pink

2008-09-13T14:55:00.000+01:00

obscuring or seeking?

2008-09-08T08:21:00.004+01:00

late sun

2008-09-06T20:20:00.004+01:00

his coat hangs by the back door, still

rain/glaw

2008-08-11T13:36:00.002+01:00

Mostly I really enjoy the rain; the day of these pictures it cheered me up no end, a thunder storm, heavy heavy rain. I was out with my "hello kitty" pink umbrella and my camera getting wet.
But today the rain is tiring me a little and hasn't cheeed me. Maybe I just need to go and stand in it....then have a warm bath......

shadow

2008-08-11T08:17:00.007+01:00

It is not raining, but overcast and cool with a breeze. Beautiful wave clouds like sit like whales above the mountain. As I go up to do the morning chicken duty the dog huffs and puffs a trail after some creature that has wandered during the night.

I felt last night that I was recovering from a wobbly spell, but this morning discover that I am not. All anxiety and shaking....does it come from the physical first? How can I tell? And what to do if it does? Certainly my hands and knees are worse. Is it a muddle of both? I feel unable to find a way to deal with it apart from keep moving forward, don't overdo it on a physical or emotional level, but don't stop; I have to go through. There are good reasons why I want to "get a life", to be emotionally and physically very able, apart from just for myself. Does having an outside goal help or hinder? Oh how I am all questions and confusion!

I have described the feeling of being in a deep soggy sofa that is impossible to get out of, I keep trying because I want to, but my energy and resolve are forever sapped. It brings tears to my eyes. It is almost time but not quite: seeing the possibility makes me want to grab it now. At least I see possibility now, can think about the future without going into a flat spin panic.

It's been a hard few years, but today is today is today. Doing battle is daft but I can't give in, I want too much to do that.

The air is full of birch seeds and the ground sprinkled liberally with them.

A wistful, hopeful tale:

Two kittens trek around the coast paths, one encouraging the other; looking at sea and sunset. Liking the wet water in very unkitten like ways. Occasional rough and tumble in play. Picking up pebbles, sniffing the air and the flowers. Enjoying the simple things, all pink noses, whiskers and curiosity. Eating morsels of this and that, whatever takes the fancy. Joy and sharing; caring.

remember

2008-08-06T10:39:00.001+01:00

a reminder to remember
Hiroshima

may we each make peace within ourselves

smooth and cool and curious

2008-08-04T20:17:00.002+01:00

a sunset seen from a canoe.

an afternoon at fulling tide

letters

2008-07-20T18:14:00.000+01:00

An exercise is suggested, two love letters (there is more time for the first, perhaps about ten minutes). The first to a place, the second to an action.

The place. The only place. A valley. A valley in chalk. A valley topped and sided by trees; a bowl like valley with exits and entrances up and over. The only low gap being a field that leads to more fields. A tin shed house, green. A hedged garden. A world of its own. Apple trees even cojoined apple trees. Lilac. Cherries, both ornamental. An adhoc shed of old doors and windows and wooden panels. A bucket toilet – with a view. Two gardens, one each side of the house; one his one hers. Two swinging gates divide: clunk thunk thunker thunk. Oh smells so many smells, from paraffin to sweet peas – even the two together, the larder, the wood fire. Sounds of insects’ feet – ok maybe spiders’, on the board walls, the crisp yet deep sound if I drew my fingers across the walls. Rain on the roves. Blackbirds and cock crows deep in the early morning; woodpeckers and deer. The click of the door on it’s ball closer, the clack of a latched dor, foots steps. The sound of the clock – sometimes clocks, tic toc chime. The voices – the voices left in the parrot after the breathing lungs have ceased to be.
The sense of belonging, of acceptance, being comfortable. Body relaxed, my body relaxed, my self accepted.
Oh early morning chaffinch in the big cherry tree, coming in with the light flickering through leaves and cotton net curtains, as I hang half in sleep on a high princess and the pea affair. The hint of apple, from yearly storage. Dark corners in the room, boxes of photographs, mysterious never unravelled. Never can be unravelled. I live now knowing so much remains unknown. Now it is only through conversations, through words and another’s memories that I can glean new information from inside fence and hedge, inside the valley, the square mile (y sgwar) of place. Sound, smell, touch it all bundles around, memories clear and vague; whispers that will not be held, that cannot be chased.
So I look back and ponder and try to think of this all, maybe to unravel or understand. Was it always about loss, at least from the age of nine? Before that it just always was there, then it was rationed – a week a year? Loss of childhood? Was it, is it fantasy? It is full and deep and real in me – the feelings, the memories, the sensations – all of it of course now memory.
A place no longer, you do not exist. Except for the cherry tree over 70 years old.

- - - - -

Your hands. I could pick so many actions of your hands. Scampering across the keyboard, relaxed doing nothing, soft on your lap; of course cooking: deftly chopping, stirring, clearing, cleaning, serving. Hands so adept, so full of precision. But of course mostly, I remember the feeling – the physical and emotional feeling of your hand on my face as we slowly moved between two display cases at the Arnolfini. And wondering when on earth someone had last touched me like that….
And I think of the letter that I have just written to a place and wish you could have stood there, within that garden, and have touched my face like that; in that place. I want you to know me and still touch me like that. To be known and loved and accepted.

a lot of words/not a lot of words

2008-07-05T16:51:00.010+01:00

A ramble through Holy Hiatus/Liminal thoughts from the symposium and the performances

The linear splits and changes

Suspending normal every day norms including status changes the encounter with the other (any lasting effect?) An I/thou culture; such a shame that the use of thou has gone in English and it is now seen as old fashioned and formal whereas it is The Informal and the method of address to peers children and animals….and god. Therefore if one sees that of god in everyone then everyone needs to be addressed as thou. And if one believes all are equal under god, again one needs to address all in the informal/intimate – and all titles thus vanish. In welsh as in French there is still the thou form. I personally would address all as thou and/or with their given names.

Equality can’t exist in hierarchies. Categorisation is a useful construct, it enables us to understand what we are talking about and maybe suggests peoples’ roles, but there is no need to stack these categories up and create a hierarchy. The cleaner is as vital as the managing director. The baby sitter that comes to look after the children of the highly paid therapist’s children should be paid more – the low wage allows the other the opportunity to earn more….
Politics and “religion”.

How can a liminal state a ritual break down this, meld it into something more; how can the experience transform and allow a change? Some ritual highlights difference, some gives brief respite. There are lords of misrule rituals still occurring through Europe and crazy anarchic folk traditions that do resist being taken over by health and safety and “authority” and long may they dangerously live! But some rituals perpetuate hierarchy.

How could you ever go back to lord and serf in the heart after facing each as an equal? You can return to your work – the lord serving the serf as the serf serves the lord – with full appreciation of each others contribution/role.

possibility
ambiguity
separation
cessation
liberation
betwixt and between
twilight
anti structure
playfulness

Theatre: some theatre is still sacred. A visit to the theatre is a wonderful knowing suspension of belief, and entry into a fiction that becomes real.

Make a safe comfortable space to get unsafe in.

Gilding the lily
Consider the lily of the fields

Experience/religious experience/the ecstatic
Miester Ekhart wrote of the nothingness of god; also he and Buddhists talk of non-attachment; there is a sense in which one should not be striving for something, even the “perfect” meditation or prayer, yet we are told “seek and ye shall find”. How to find the no-thing… Is the religious experience (exstatic/vertical) really useful? Once experienced is there a striving to re-enter this state thereby ignoring the now, the mundane, the being here, being present. Movement used to reach an ecstatic state such as in groups who pray with calling out waving of hands clapping swaying. How does this compare to the whirling of the dervish? Is that less group euphoria? How about a more individual intuitive approach to movement and prayer? Is the nightclub (even without the alcohol and drugs) a group, sound enhanced, ritual getting out of it space (sound, loud sound annihilates inhibitions as much as alcohol; many people seem scared of silence/quietness). Should we get out of it? I know some people’s thinking on meditation is that it is an escape, it is a chill out. But meditation is surely about being in the now with whatever, being fully aware of pain, of happiness, anger, grief – all feeling and sensation but allowing it to pass (or accepting it sticking around). The full experience, but without attachment.
Get into it not out of it. More horizontal than vertical in experience, more ordinary than extra ordinary. Make washing up the prayer…..

Immigrants, incomers, loss of identity – or sometimes the immigrant/incomer sticks rigidly to Their Culture, maybe becoming very conservative and unchanging compared to those “back home”. The safety, the protectiveness of sticking with tradition…but not the confidence to let it grow and evolve as it would do in a “safe “place. Is that what has happened to culture in the south of Wales, where the language and way of life is do threatened – much less so in the north where there is the feisty and contemporary also. It is my experience that even those people who speak the language fluently and take part in the culture, but come from an English family can still be despised and not wanted, as they are still not “ethnically” Welsh.

Was not my work welsh culture, of cymru, and if it wasn't what was it? Is it then actually subversive, or as colonisers can we by definition never be subversive???? Can I just say it is welsh but also have to accept that others would deny that? Would that get me anywhere satisfactory.

Recognition of alienation
Bring it back to mortality

I would just like to feel at home.

I have had it with being the other, being singled out for the sideline, being seen as a reactionary/trouble maker just because I sometimes see things differently; have different opinions to the group. I wouldn’t want to be a member of a group that was all cosy and agreeing. There’d never be any growth and prejudice and “fear” of The Other would merely be fostered. But of course I am not going to mute my views and I have never learnt to keep my mouth shut even though I have known since childhood that it wouldn’t lead to security in a group…. I so much want to hear from The Other.

Hurt hurt pain. Grief and anger tumble in a furious tail chasing whirl. Tears tears impossible to talk, the only way to get words out is to feel the anger. A public place – thankful for slight building site remains and huddle round a corner, by the fire escape door.
Loss of a culture, not fitting, not belonging, anger at miss readings.

Economics, money. Where does the individual stand? What say do they have if they have no economic clout? I go through therapy I do my positive thinking then horror of horrors I find I am restrained from the outside, for real. What do I do now? How do I feel? Betrayed by the new age thought police. Oh the terrible terrible gap between rich and poor.

Culture: one of my great griefs, sense of loss that was happening on saturday was the loss of my culture. I think it is an issue at the moment as I am still dealing with the loss of the Place that represented it to me most, that had still been available to me until it was disapeared by people with money that wanted some hideous tidy idyll and could have it because they had money and could afford the place and the lawyers. So the anger isn't just at loss but injustice. Also how money does win over all and it stinks - let them try and eat money, but they can still buy food they don’t yet need to eat money. Of course also bound up with childhood and the close relationship with my grandparents and the land that I lost when I moved to west wales aged 9....where I then wasn't wanted...and sometimes still feel I don't belong.

Loss of my culture means I don't feel much in common sometimes with my peers, not that I think I always should and I love to hear and feel other experiences of the world. I guess I also get bugged by mistaken identity. Also loss of a rural culture means we are all losing touch with the land, though many do rediscover it. But sometimes new fangled how to look after the woods etc misses something deep and ordinary. And sometimes what annoys is that there isn't only one way to lay a hedge. Trivial I know, but perhaps loss of cultural diversity is like loss of diversity in flora and fauna - just not as bad. And people forget that dinner comes originally with its feathers/fur ON.
Homogenous boring safe is what seem to be happening – even with all the excitement & fun….
Is there a tendency to feelings of alienation? P.A.N mentioned a common (as in often, not for all) feeling of not belonging. When I was young, before I moved here, I didn't belong with my peers and spent a lot of time alone and knew it and didn't mind, was very philosophical about it...or more had the feeling of being there. Though just reading an article that says as children we don't have self reflection - phooey I say, or maybe some of us just had too much quiet time on our hands so came to it earlier.

oh and preservation does indeed fix things so very much

um yes - the functioning hedge is the thing that matters. I think my dad finds it awkward seeing hedges that belong in another part of Britain - perhaps the styles grew from the type of trees and stock in them, who knows..... Some hedgers don't believe in trees being left in them.... trees is for woods. No, at the symposium it wasn't a romantic or real look at rural past, can't put finger on it. RS Thomas and Ted Hughes put some things into poetry that speak of the hard rural past without too much fuss, romanticism or extreme “this was woeful...”. Perhaps there was too much categorising going on, and reading symbols into the actual. And of course not seeing the dinner for the feathers, at least I could laugh by then.
All bull fighting can disappear without a trace as far as I'm concerned - as with fox hunting why should an animal suffer for our "liminal" or "raw" experience. Tradition, pride, experience, none of it counts against cruelty. Even at the risk of homogenous culture. We are surely thinking creatures with a sense of ethics as well as being instinctual. I know that I can think no other way. The people that go in with the bull as they did in the Cretan times are a different matter - body and body. More a celebration of both.

Send people out to kill their own food, after training, if they want a bit of death. Sit with people dying who have no-one else to sit with them.

Sudden realisation: I find it annoying when writers/philosophers/anthropologists etc use WE, sometimes i don't feel part of that particular we. Reading, struggling to read, as I kept getting cross, The Spell of the Sensuous (because it seems a popular texts with artists working in some areas that I do) I realised he was talking of a we that was NOT my experience - much prefer Coming to Our Senses.....

Prayer comes up in relation to my performance with L; she notes a quotation from me in a book…. The sense of gladness I have about prayer, which I feel keeps the world turning; metaphorically, spiritually, for people. A prayer for us all. But actually, not sure if I've expressed it right. I once told a catholic father, at a Cistercian monastery that I was glad there were people praying, monks and nuns of all religions; he was surprised and said many Catholics don’t think like that, they believe monks and nuns should be out there Doing Stuff.
During a reiki session, I was told that I was previously a nun (the day after a strange hallucination [internal vision, touch and smell] whilst distraught of wearing a damp woollen habit, which was unknown to the reiki healer); that my problem with this life was how to serve god in a “secular” setting. I only believe in this one precious life, but it made sense.

Ritual: ritual can be everyday. Ritual can be meaningless, merely habit. But even meaningless ritual can suddenly give insight, inspiration. Ritual can become superstition, can be used to control, can be mindless, can be political and can uphold rigid, judgemental ways of being. When does ritual cross the line to obsessive compulsive behaviour? When in the depths of depression an attempt at /sense of ritual, that is being methodical and ordered about getting up making tea eating breakfast…. can hold me together, and lead to me recovering myself enough to move forth.

Ritual can give meaning to daily life, draw attention to the ordinary and essential, can bring mindfulness. Perhaps one day it becomes all ritual thereby flipping to no ritual all mindfulness. “Do everything as if for god*”. As if…such a relief that I am not always doing everything for god, because I don’t, can’t yet, and anyway is there a god to do it for? but I can do it “as if”….here the ritual comes in handy! And one day I may find that I am all mindfulness: doing everything for god….. but mostly probably existing in the "as if" state with occasional breaks through thresholds....

Washing up is the prayer, the meditation; not the thing to escape from with prayer/meditation

* my definition of god is actually undefined and still under investigation, it maybe that I discover absolutely no god.

bud

2008-07-01T09:14:00.003+01:00

SAINT FRANCIS AND THE SOW
Galway Kinnell

The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self blessing;
although sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing it's loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self blessing:
as Saint Francis
put his hand on the creased forehead
of the sow..........

for the full text buy or borrow: Soul Food, Bloodaxe 2007
amongst others. I'm not sure about writing out whole poems unless they are on an online publication as poets make their living from the sale of books......

not keeping up...

2008-06-30T15:45:00.005+01:00

I put aside images that inspire me, make notes in my sketch book but they don't seem to be making it onto the blog, such tardy behaviour. I am sure much is the same as usual: moments of acceptance; moments of doubt, of the dismal and defeated; moments of joy.

So catching up.

Early in the morning the sun makes it into my north facing room. The light is beautiful and inspiring....it is there again at the end of the day.

these images are from the very end of May.

remembering

2008-06-01T10:14:00.006+01:00

In the free human being, the universe is gathered up. Then in the free resolve of your heart take your own life in hand and you will find the world; the spirit of the world will find itself in you.

Rudolf Steiner

These words were given in memory of Les yesterday at a meeting at Park Atwood of PAFAM. His gardening umbrella still hangs in the greenhouse.

And I keep thinking about taking my life in hand! There is a slight sense of nothingness, in not a helpul way, a fearfulness. But this is the only life I have so......

swifts

2008-05-04T13:08:00.004+01:00

this morning at 09:32 I heard them then two minutes later saw a pair. Now it rains thickly. the apple blossoms are smelling sweet and the early opened petals fly in the breeze.

may day morning

2008-05-01T07:44:00.000+01:00

hawthorn blossom, may blossom...for magical may day morning

blue eyes

2008-04-29T09:01:00.000+01:00

someone calls me blue eyes

cuckoo

2008-04-27T08:57:00.000+01:00

milk maid, cuckoo flower, (Our) Lady's smock.

and there are cuckoos here, I just haven't heard one yet

blackthorn

2008-04-26T20:51:00.001+01:00

the blackthorn is perhaps a little late - it has been coming out in dribs and drabs though has been at it's most the last week. But not like drifts of snow across the countryside as it has been some years.

2 years ago

true beauty

2008-04-24T20:39:00.005+01:00

"True beauty comes from within; the skin reflects and mirrors this beauty."
says Elisabeth Sigmund in the Dr. Hauscha skin care brochure; in fact it gets a whole A4 page just to say that.

It doesn't make me feel too good; a slight sense of lacking true beauty. Ok mostly my arms and from the waist down the skin is fine..... Am I not trying hard enough? Good enough? Etc etc.

Do people realise the affect that words, especially stressed and printed, can have on others?

always the earliest

2008-04-15T14:52:00.005+01:00

down by the estuary the lichen covered apple tree is always the earliest to blossom, by now it is probably covered, nd will have faced frost, perhaps sleet and snow.

winter in spring April 6th

2008-04-11T11:56:00.008+01:00

at last we have snow. I had given up hope. I awoke with a migraine, I broke my camera but it snowed. Twice it snowed and thawed in one day.

It is not entirely true to say I feel happy when I am in snow, it is more like I feel complete. It is like that trick of putting two patterned transparencies over each other, they make a myriad of moire patterns then suddenly they sit over the top of each other and they snap into place as one, that is how I feel.

a set of images are here

15:44

2008-04-10T19:43:00.001+01:00

each of the three trains due on this platform will arrive in one minute.
Casnewydd/Newport, Gwent

blue

2008-04-09T20:40:00.001+01:00

blue blue sky over blue blue sea. bright green of hawthorn startles against this blue. more blackthorn showing white. turquoise car passes with great creamy white alsatian head out of the sunroof. nose heavily irritated as a woman on the bus sprays some perfumed body product onto herself.

thinking of japan

2008-03-05T12:38:00.000Z

cherry plum blossom

2008-03-04T12:33:00.001Z

blossom mania occurs...early cherry plums and now the blackthorn, and away from the wild the ornamental cherries.

the whiteness of spring

2008-03-02T21:20:00.000Z

pink cherry

2008-03-02T20:16:00.000Z

on 28th february

blackbird

2008-03-02T15:09:00.000Z

As a child I would rest back on my pillow (with Bear) in bed during the light evenings, after maybe a lonely, bewildering, perhaps quiet day – what ever the day was; and I would gaze through the pink gauzy net curtain (the only sort of curtain that I would have) in my pink room and listen to blackbird song and the call of wood pigeons. It wasn’t that all was solved, all was happy, but all was what it was. Childhood meditation/mindfulness I suppose.

more sky drawing

2008-02-15T19:57:00.000Z

sky drawing

2008-02-15T19:55:00.001Z

for today

2008-02-14T12:52:00.002Z