A Day At A Time

When something truly  momentous happens in your life, it takes time, lots of time, to regain your footing, to right the boat, to find the path again (or whatever metaphor you'd like to use).
Just taking each day as it comes seems to help.
Music - that most existential of activities - is also helpful. No matter how bad you are feeling, a few minutes of making music will invariably make you feel a whole lot better. As will doing something quite physical every day - I've been cycling a whole lot.
My friends with the olive grove gave me a bucket of olives to pickle......here are three of nine jars. they are "maturing" in their pickle baths and I can't wait to test them in a month's time! Hope they taste as good as they look.

After the flurry of activity making the recycled/trash sculpture I blogged about in my last post, studio time has been a little sporadic. But I'm feeling more like getting back into a normal work routine every day. Here's a little doll I finished a few days ago......her name is "Tansey Meadowsweet".

In the early morning after my Bob's funeral, I took a photo of the full moon......here's one of the "month after" full moon. It looks an odd shape.....I think I may have moved the camera a little........it is what it is!

Ordinary Things.........

Ordinary things..........like cleaning out the poly-tunnel greenhouse ready for some winter plantings and finding jalapenos, which I pickled:

.........and some bushes of ripe chilies, which I threaded onto string to dry.

.......and being given some freshly-picked olives to pickle:

Ordinary things like a trick of the light which limns an ordinary object into a thing of beauty:

Ordinary things are a balm to a wounded soul.

Into The Mystic

For Bob.

We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won, as we sailed into the mystic.
Hark now hear the sailor's cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic.

And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home.
And when that fog horn blows I want to hear it,
I don't have to fear it.
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old,
Then magnificently we will float into the mystic.
And when that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home.
And when that fog horn whistle blows, I gotta hear it,
I don't have to fear it.
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old,
And together we will float  into the mystic
Come on girl..........

Van Morrison

"Demeter" - about 60 cms high. Made entirely from recycled/trash materials, except for a bit of paint and glue. The sculpted parts are made from a matrix of sawdust and glue with some shredded paper pulp added to prevent cracking. They were formed over a core of crushed newspaper, which was later removed. The column is made from some scrap timber pieces laminated together, with a patina created from used tea-bag papers embedded in gel medium. the pieces of limb wood were picked up in the garden and they are glued and then lashed onto the sides of the column  with recycled string.

Moving on...........

Life will be very different from now on........so many plans cut short - the things we were going to do together - travelling, growing stuff, talking about things - just the everyday companionable things are now simply gone from my life.
But I need to move on, pick up what pieces I can and carry on doing the things that I love to do. In time, I hope I can delight in them again. Let me share with you a poem by Bob's favourite poet W.B. Yeats. He first read this to me when I was a starry-eyed sixteen-year-old and smitten with this enigmatic, beautiful man, who was all of eighteen.

                                He Wishes For the Cloths Of Heaven

                                Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
                                Enwrought with golden and silver light,
                                The blue and the dim and the dark cloths 
                                Of night and light and the half-light,
                                I would spread the cloths under your feet:
                                But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
                                I have spread my dreams under your feet;
                               Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

I'm starting to spend a little time in my studio as I feel able and as dealing with the practicalities of winding up an estate allow - it is good to be able to start creating again. 

This little one is finished now and I'm working on a larger piece for an exhibition in June.....will post a wip pictures when I have something to show. It is a piece of sculpture, not a doll.