9:27am. There is a steady rhythmic thumping in the background. Our neighbours married yesterday. They are young with many young friends. The 'music' (I use the term with reservations) went on loudly until midnight and began again at 6:30am. I applaud their endurance.
When I took Mikaela, prompt as ever waking me at 6:22am, to the A frame, I could hear the men talking and laughing, fresh as though they'd just arrived.
The newly married couple had the foresight, wisdom and politeness to warn us and the other neighbours of what was about to transpire with a letter drop. Otherwise the neighbourhood would be cranky with those 'young people and their crappy music'. As it is, we just wait. Eventually - tonight? - they'll wind down and go home to prepare for work Monday morning.
I hope.
Guess every generation is destined to misunderstand and dislike the music of the generation that follows. This music, as far as I can make out, is entirely electronic. There is no singing. The only voice I've heard is what appears to be a question and answer segment in some of the 'songs'. The accent is on the beat, like a quickened heartbeat, which is hypnotic as the other sounds (not melody) weave in and around it. At least it's not heavy metal and screaming guitars which, although disastrous for the ear drums, at least has emotion. This music seems to be a product of our digital age; precise, clean and entirely soulless. 9:39pm
Sunday, March 25, 2018
Thursday, March 22, 2018
Post 32 of 92
3:56pm. I have been asked by a friend to contribute a pithy one or two sentence saying to go with an art book she is putting together featuring her paintings. These words of wisdom have to have something to do with concepts she has assigned. I wrote back, one word. She has replied with a couple of suggestions as the word I suggested has already been assigned to another friend and another art work.
There is no problem with this but as I was pondering what to say I noticed that feeling within me, so nebulous as to almost slip by, of anger/frustration/resentment. Now why is that? Got it big time when trying to put together that art application, get it frequently when things go wrong with the computer that I somehow have to fix (an imploded modem is easy by comparison, just buy a new one). Experienced it the first time, that I remember, when i tried to balance a chequebook under Mom's tutelage. I just didn't 'get' how to do it.
And here it is again, a wasp's wing of rage, touching so lightly, so fleetingly it was almost gone before I noticed. Am I so spoiled that if things don't go smoothly the first time I have an inner tantrum? Have had my fair share of dramas in life and don't get that particular toxic feeling while dealing with them.
It's a mystery. Not a nice one either. Something smelly and sticky under a rock somewhere. In the meantime, guess I'll keep working on that pithy saying. 4:07pm
There is no problem with this but as I was pondering what to say I noticed that feeling within me, so nebulous as to almost slip by, of anger/frustration/resentment. Now why is that? Got it big time when trying to put together that art application, get it frequently when things go wrong with the computer that I somehow have to fix (an imploded modem is easy by comparison, just buy a new one). Experienced it the first time, that I remember, when i tried to balance a chequebook under Mom's tutelage. I just didn't 'get' how to do it.
And here it is again, a wasp's wing of rage, touching so lightly, so fleetingly it was almost gone before I noticed. Am I so spoiled that if things don't go smoothly the first time I have an inner tantrum? Have had my fair share of dramas in life and don't get that particular toxic feeling while dealing with them.
It's a mystery. Not a nice one either. Something smelly and sticky under a rock somewhere. In the meantime, guess I'll keep working on that pithy saying. 4:07pm
Sunday, March 18, 2018
Post 31 of 92
4:50pm. Every day I think about writing, compose stuff in my head, and every day I don't. So be it.
All in all however, not too bad here. I've been drawing a lot. A lot. Have had a few things on the go. Nothing nicer than to wake up in the morning and look forward to working on something. Just about the nicest feeling there is. Spent weeks on a drawing, overworked it, ruined it, cut it in thirds as thought I could kind of make do with part of it. Natalia, one of the cats, played with it, walked on it and creased it. Just as well. When something is stuffed it's stuffed and just because there might be thirty hours work in it, is no justification for keeping it. If it's shite, it's shite.
Drawing is a solid ground of joy. There is something undeniably seductive about making something which wasn't there before. It's a bloody miracle. Every moment of every day, I realise, is the same creative process; a word spoken, a thought thought, a meal made, steps taken, always a movement from the past to the future that is never anything but right here, yet creating something tangible from the mind, a kind of testament to the past and future coalescing in a visual record of the infinite now....
Gad, I know what I want to say but I can't say it. The more I try to pin it down the more elusive it gets. Suffice to say, it's a gift that I am so grateful to make use of.
And now it's time to take a walk. 5:05pm
All in all however, not too bad here. I've been drawing a lot. A lot. Have had a few things on the go. Nothing nicer than to wake up in the morning and look forward to working on something. Just about the nicest feeling there is. Spent weeks on a drawing, overworked it, ruined it, cut it in thirds as thought I could kind of make do with part of it. Natalia, one of the cats, played with it, walked on it and creased it. Just as well. When something is stuffed it's stuffed and just because there might be thirty hours work in it, is no justification for keeping it. If it's shite, it's shite.
Drawing is a solid ground of joy. There is something undeniably seductive about making something which wasn't there before. It's a bloody miracle. Every moment of every day, I realise, is the same creative process; a word spoken, a thought thought, a meal made, steps taken, always a movement from the past to the future that is never anything but right here, yet creating something tangible from the mind, a kind of testament to the past and future coalescing in a visual record of the infinite now....
Gad, I know what I want to say but I can't say it. The more I try to pin it down the more elusive it gets. Suffice to say, it's a gift that I am so grateful to make use of.
And now it's time to take a walk. 5:05pm
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