Regrets

The world is mixed up today. Something happened and I think it’s too personal and painful to recount here, so I’m not mentioning names, but I am writing to sort my thoughts out a little.

I have so many regrets, things I didn’t do, words I didn’t speak. Silence I didn’t break. Not because I was being mean, but because I lost track of time, I forgot to remember to keep in touch. And now I can’t speak, I can’t phone. Your voice has gone. Lost. Not forgotten, but hard to remember.

Years go by, we were not close, but we understood each other. Now there is nothing. I have consolation, hubby, family and friends, but I’m so sad. Goodbye. That’s all I can think.

Insomnia again, no!

My mind is spinning again, and my body has been spinning in bed, left side, back, right side, left side, right, back, left…..

Sheet covering me, duvet and sheet, no sheet… Too hot, too cold. Pain in my toes, pain in my knee, back, neck..

Twisting and turning so much, it might be a dance. Now my guts are joining in, discomfort, so I’ve come down for a decaff coffee. Soon I’ll be back in bed. But while I’m here, at 5.15am, why not just check out my phone for stories, funny memes, memories, jokes…… Put it down! Put. It. Down…

Good morning x dawn will be breaking soon.

Red

Red is the colour I loved as a child. Not pink. I had to have a bright red polkadot dress. I remember seeing a red setting sun for the first time when I was small. I liked red sweets, though I don’t remember the flavour. Red roses were beautiful, and red toffee apples were tasty.

Even now I like wearing red, but I’m a bit more adventurous, liking deep reds and maroons and bright reds. I still don’t like pink though.

a strange painting

It was called Dasies. The figure in the doorway was my friend at the time. But like the painting she was strange. A complex person that tried to do things and disturb my life. I think she might have been OK, but one day she did something that completely lost my trust in her. I won’t go into detail, but she showed an uncaring side that really hurt me and my hubby. I could have forgiven her, I could have accepted her apologies, but why should I?

What do the Dasies and plants signify? Because it was before the split, I think probably I was trying to beautify the image. The garden was not as floriferous as this. It was a gift for either her birthday or Christmas. She was good at hiding her thoughts and the slightly surreal air was trying to capture that. I think most of my paintings are quite narrative. I’m glad I kept a photo of it, I have lost track of the paintings I have done over the years. Perhaps this ended up in the bin?

Clouds over carpark

Look up, see the blue, but then see the clouds. Mottled grey and white. When I was a child I was obsessed with clouds. In sewing class I embroidered white and grey clouds on a blue background. When I did art foundation I painted a cloudscape in quink ink. The colour of it, a darkish grey blue, split into browns and blue when you added water. I’ve painted clouds reflected in the windows at Spode in Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire.

Knowledge of clouds. I wish I could recognise them and their types. I know some names, cumulus, cumulonimbus, stratus, etc, etc,…

Yin-yang

Made a coffee, but as often happens I saw a pattern as the cream swirled over the top. I took a photo, which isn’t very good, because I thought it looks like the yin-yang symbol.

I have always, for as long as I remember, found shapes in patterns, from imagined fairies in rose wallpaper, to dragons on tablecloth fabric. I have a mind that has a creative bent. Pareidolia is sometimes fun, sometimes irritating. But I use it for my art.

Sundays were always boring…

Sitting around being bored. Shops shut, nowhere to go. Listening to the radio, parents doing the washing in a boiler and a spin drier in the kitchen. Steam coming up and then patterns in the water as the spindryer vibrated the bowl that caught the water. No fridge, just a cold pantry, food was usually bacon and eggs for breakfast and tinned peaches and evaporated milk with sliced bread and butter at teatime. It was always the same. Things did change, life got more interesting, but only when my parents got transport, which was two small motorbikes. Memories are strange, they suddenly appear, then what do you do.

Umbrellas

Memory from 2017 of a mural I painted in 2007. This was at the Leopard Hotel in Burslem, Stoke-on-Trent. I have a strong connection with Burslem from doing a series of murals in the hotel. Who knows whether I will do anymore?

I would love to do a bit more mural painting, or scenery, or large paintings. I’m hoping if I can get my shaking arm under control I might be able to do it.

Memories are a great thing, but also they can be tinged with sadness when you think of all the things you could have done. I do wonder about the pandemic times. Could I have done more to keep my art business going? What things can I do to actually sell my work? I’m not a sales person, I’m an artist…. I don’t think I’ll ever have a USP!

old digital work

a long time ago (2019) , I was playing with photoshop and came up with a series of images. I would start with one digital drawing, put it through a filter or two until I was happy with the result, save it and then filter it again. I have several series of jpegs where I have changed the images incrementally, up to 9 or 10 times. Its a way of learning how you can alter or edit an image without loosing the sequence. I dont tend to do it anymore unless someone wants to see how Ive worked something out. I do have too many images, but I do like to look back at them occassionally, it helps me understand how I got here.