Will there be frost? It certainly feels like it. The sky has cleared and the damp air seems to be clamping down on the world tonight.
The chill from outside has sneaked in here. I opened the back door to let the cat out and a whole cold layer of air has run like a river through the house. My top half is warm but my knees and feet are cold.
It’s snowing around the country but I think its just going to freeze here tonight….
A photo from the British Ceramics Biennial last year. Rain washed spode site glistening in the sunlight.
Missing being able to visit places and see things. Even after a couple of days it looks like they are going to increase local lockdowns and prevent more transmission of the virus.
And yet we see images of people without masks, or wearing them as some sort of decorative chin strap. While the head of one of the greatest countries in the world gets to throw possibly contaminated masks into a baying, maskless crowd.
‘ an artefact is an object made by a human being, typically one of cultural or historical interest.’
As ppart of our course we have to design an artefact that supports our professional practice as illustrators. Commissioners might be interested in something different. Something that is eye catching. We discussed what an artefact is and came to the conclusion that it could be anything. It might be the simplest thing but if it’s buried and then dug up by an archaeologist it could become significant.
The ideas for artefacts ranged from scarves, tee shirts, books, toys, cards, games, even old game boy consoles. Very interesting.
From a friends Facebook page, I think I agree with the sentiment. It’s a bit apocalyptic, but things are getting bad for artist and performer friends.
Next time there’s a lockdown, nobody is allowed to watch Netflix, Amazon Prime or any other platform. You must NOT listen to music or read a book. Free online concerts from the biggest stars in the world? Nope, they’re out too. Learn an instrument? Banned Dance Classes? No How about listen to an audiobook? Not a chance! The UK Government have ordained the Arts as low skilled and, therefore, of no value. Now imagine life without them
I’m tense all the time. My hubby went out walking today with some friends and I stayed in ostensibly to get some college work done but really I want to keep away from possible infection. I don’t like it though. I’m constantly tense. I get pains in my shoulders from holding them tight all the time. I’ve tried to book some physio because I’m getting pain from a pinched nerve in my arm and shoulder… But there are no free appointments. Hubby says he will pay, but I’d rather trust the NHS than go private?
So the tension continues. I’ve even found myself rocking backwards and forwards to comfort myself. I don’t think I’m depressed just physically reacting to the pandemic. Stay safe everyone.
I’d like to be silly, daft, funny, have a laugh. But recently I’ve had to become, as my hubby calls me ‘ captain sensible’.
The thing is I’m his carer. I don’t like thinking about it but he has mental health issues and I have to keep a level head to keep him safe. But I don’t like it. I have to negotiate with him when he has manic ideas. I have to think through what he can do. I sometimes feel like a jailer. And yet I’m being sensible. I don’t think he should go and find a newt and put it in the pond, or buy another three bicycles to add to his collection of ten he already has. Or come home with another tree for our wooded garden. Some things are simple negotiation. Others are confusing. He buys ornaments we don’t need. He spends money in one particular shop on stuff that’s basically junk. But he’s happy. But they must see him coming… I worry about some of the things he declares he’s going to do. I won’t discuss them here. I can’t describe the anxiety he goes through every day, over things I would call trivial. I try and hold it all together and then live my life on top of that..
I’d written a poem about nature and autumn. But my phone won’t save drafts of my posts. I hit the wrong key. So I’ve lost it. It no longer exists. Like summer moving into autum then onwards, the poem has gone into the aether, lost for all time. I could try rewriting it, but the sentiment is lost, the feeling has gone. I’d done some nice rhymes, but I’m not going to easily remember them.
And when we get to this time next year? The world will have moved on through space and time. We never come back to the same place. The Earth turns, spiralling around the sun, which in turn moves around the galaxy…..