The Box

Me in the Box
Pandora.
Lift the lid.
There are layers of me, boxes within boxes.
I feel the texture of my memories, rub rough beneath my fingertips, as I peel back the layers now.  Blowing dust off from the lid, neglected in the recess of my attic-brain.
Lest we forget, forever lost. Why not. 

Blue
I was a child of worries and concerns. Uneasy in my innocence.
We crossed an ocean, and journeyed over land, to start again in a sunburnt country.
Learned to sing Banjo Patterson's ode to the Jolly Jumbuck.
The words seemed odd and weighty on my tongue, like billabong and coolabah; dislocation.
Translocation of my soul.
My mother crying. Ice-cream and TV shows I'd never seen.
And lemonade in anodised cups that stayed so cold when filled with ice.
True Blue, they said.
Strange noises at night. The eternal deafening chirrup of the tropics.
Mosquito nets and calamine, to soothe the bumps that rose on our fair English skins by day.
We didn't stay.

Green
Green as the trees by my beloved river.
I picked up alder cones to carry home the cleansing magic and the water's blessing.
Dropped sticks for my desires off the bridge and whispered the name of the man I adored. Begged Aphrodite for her aid, to make him look at him. He still did not.
I dug deep into the Earth that winter.
Pulled up couch grass, brittle roots, fat hen, and a swarm of majestic nettles that had gathered on my plot. My face turned to the cold, and hands turned numb, but something drove me on.
The solace and tranquility I found at the allotments helped me heal the long depression I had feared would take control and drag me to the hinter life of not quite living, barely breathing.
Medicated managing would never be enough for me.
I learned to breathe and take my time in long slow conversations with old men, who sent me home with car boot full of carrots, leeks and artichokes. 
Knew I was blessed in ways unseen.  And that the Earth would feed my soul of what I'd lost.

And in the spring, so much green. Abundant life, renewed.

Red
Now I begin to uncover the depths of fire within my being.
This story yet untold.
Another comes to make more sense of it than I.
And there is time to rest again, let it unfold. 

~

I've been busy with an art project today for college. It's called The Box.  Slow progress.  A little wine.  Late night.  Words that I scrawled in my journal, now above.
Yes, I said wine.  I know, I don't drink.  Well, maybe I do a little. Sometimes.
Things are definitely changing dramatically.

My business adventures are taking off, and becoming extremely consuming to me.  So less 'witch-ness', but, you know, it's the right time for me to take care of these things.  Time to save Rubin and I from the pit of abject 'whatever' (I'm not going to say that word).  And I believe wholeheartedly in what I'm doing.  I'm excited about it.

I've started talking about it more at Void now, though there's another site that will become the focus of the project for 2010, called How to build a really good business (dotcom!) - are you surprised?  I know, it's quite a departure from the old life.  And there's yet more to come.  Choosing domain names has been so much fun.  But I won't tell you yet what they are!  You have to wait until the pages are created.  You'll be glad to know I have a man that does that for me now.  Less tech-frustration and more satisfaction for me all round.  Yippee.

So, Tara, of Rise of the Innerpreneur, asked me if I'd like to be her spotlighted Innerpreneur for November.  It seemed like a good time, linking in with my new projects.  You can read my interview piece here. Watch out for the large face shot, which might take you by surprise. Look into my eyes!

I'm getting more comfortable with working in Wordpress now too, and like the clean and minimal look that we've created there for my new stuff.  But sentimentality keeps me popping in here to add this stuff.  I'm just not sure how much longer I will be coming back to visit here.  This week another dear friend quit her blog (Mel, of From clutter to Shine... ) and I felt sad to say goodbye.  But I understand that endings come to all things, in the cycle of life and creation.  Ah, not endings, just the wheel turning toward something new.  The old returns to the earth, becoming the decay and compost that feeds what will emerge next spring.  So this is the perfect time to leave behind what no longer feels ripe, or right. 

Know that in the flurry of excitement surrounding the creation of all things new, I do not forget the ones I've met, the ones who've touched my life.  I have long known that it's easier to be the one venturing forth into the new, than the one that stays behind.  The adventure carries you forward.  Spreading my wings, I cry, "Expand!"and aim for the sky.

Bodies

I've spent a lot of time recently studying the shape and form of the human body.  

 

These simple sketches are the results of my first life drawing classes.

They're mostly brief, incomplete studies.  We had a few minutes for each pose, to get something down on the paper.  I look at the shapes created by the lines and the spaces; the play of the light and the dark.  If you try to draw "arm" or "hand" your mind gets in the way and dictates too much.  And what comes out looks little like real. 

 

I found that, with the male model, I always started here, at the shoulders, the collarbone, chest.  On a man there are lines and angles here that are pleasing to the eye.  The sense that his power is stored in this upper quadrant of his being.  And I know the underlying anatomy well, from my massage training.  The muscles that belly across the bones (biceps); that stretch to form "neck" (sternocleidomastoid); that protect vital joints (anterior deltoid). They do their jobs well. 

 

Some proportions caused me to struggle with the work, and the foreshortening problem of my perspective at times.   Is the torso too long?  The leg raked too steeply to show a true likeness?  The shoulders seem narrower here than they should have been.  But I like the way the hands have emerged and fingers have formed from the cracks inbetween. 

 

And then, after the sharp lines and angles of man, we were given a voluptuous and natural woman to draw and observe.

As I looked at the subject, I felt at a loss to know where to start.  Though wanting to show my feelings of being so honoured that someone would do this for us, so that we could develop our skills.  But my approach from the previous class did not seem to fit now ~ I just couldn't find the way 'in' to the marks I would make.

Then it struck me.  I couldn't start in the same place as I had with the man.  A whole new way of looking and appreciating was required for this subject:- Woman.  And possibly, even drawing distinct lines in graphite or charcoal felt wrong.  Just too hard and defined.

I paused and looked.  Just looking for a few moments longer can help.

There it was. The power resided much lower down.  I drew the curve of her bum, and the roundness of her generous belly.  She was soft and flowing and fluid.  My lines became fainter on the paper.  A suggestion of form and shape.  But I felt I had caught the essence that I had been seeing in her and transmitted it onto my paper at last.

So much contrast to appreciate between Man and Woman.

It's a joy to behold.

I am practising studying the subject in the flesh more closely now too.

And learning to appreciate our bodies more.

 

Full Moon Vision Board

"Take a risk and put your heart's true desire into action"

This is an ongoing theme for me, and one I felt was worthy of investing some dreaming time into.  I dreamed of all the things my heart desires for my Self to have and enjoy in this life.

Peace and happiness.

Trust.

I keep reminding myself to believe that I can do it.

I can reach the success I yearn for, and the prosperity that it will bring.

{can you see the iddy-biddy little Tiffany diamond at the top?}

It's not that I want diamonds and expensive toys ~ but what if I did?

I deserve them, right?

But I do want the home with all the space that we need,
and a studio for me to work in, and space to bring more people into our lives.

A house in the trees would be nice.

"There is no need to worry.  Everything is working out beautifully"

This is the statement that tries to soothe me when the panic sets in about work and money.  It's a greatly reassuring statement. 
But I need to have faith.

I need to believe.

You keep moving forward, following the path of your Soul

because you have no other choice.

And then a really powerful statement was given to me by a friend yesterday.

Something I'd be quite unlikely to say usually,

but I like it, and it works:

Fuck it! I'm doing it. 

Did I mention that I'm "endlessly brilliant" too?

Well I must be ~ it says so right there on the board. 

There haven't been any pictures at the everyday witch for a while.

It's nice to have some colour back again.

Bright Blessings

Pyjama Party Confessions

You know, now that I've launched out of the void for the expression of my (ahem) serious writing intentions and other such creative goals/ambitions (why is it so hard to use that word ~ ambition?), it feels like I can sneak back here to have a little pyjama party with my friends.  Although there are links from here to there, they don't exist in the opposite direction, and probably won't.  So we're safe here.  Shhh... let's whisper! I have so much to say.

There are a great many things flying around in my head at the moment.  Notebooks filling up with ideas and quotes, and references to things I've read.  But they get to a point where the notebooks are too full, and I feel I can't find my way around them.  Essentially, I always feel I need to be able to hold the ideas I'm working on quite clearly in my head.  That means learning to shut off new stimulation whilst I'm putting together a particular piece (whether it be art or writing).  This is not an easy task.  But the more stimulation that seeps into my brain, the more hyperactive I become.  And it can get to a point where sleep begins to evade me at night.

That's what happened on Saturday night.

I went up to London for the weekend, to stay with my darling little sister, Jo.  That would have been enough to get me psyched for a start.  London is such a swirling mass of stimulation to the senses and the intellect.  Sometimes I just want to gorge on it and lie around with sensory indigestion for a day or two.

This weekend it didn't go that way.  Probably due to the small case of swine flu I incurred the week before.  I still felt tired.  Too tired to fight my way through crowds of Londonites on Tube station platforms and endless flights of stretching stairs to reach the grubby daylight up above. 

But Jo and I marched on, with grand designs to see some Art and stuff.  We visited an exhibition at the National Gallery, filled with spanish sculptures of bleeding Jesus's and beheaded monks.  I kinda like all that heavy Catholic pathos, though after twenty minutes we were getting pretty creeped out.  The rooms were a bit too dark.  There was a lot of blood and sackcloth.  A normal person would have opted for the theatre and a west end show. 

And so we went for coffee.

Actually, High Tea at The Rubens Hotel.
What a treat, a delight.  It doesn't have the grandiosity of Claridges but we wouldn't want that anyway.  Just white china teapots and silver-stacked-trays of delicate cakes, and fine finger sandwiches.  Wonderful service and a man playing a baby grand in the corner.  It is heaven.  Two hours or more is required to indulge and absorb the experience fully. 

Later, back at her flat in Crystal Palace, we painted, ate pizza and watched 'Walk the Line'.  As the credits rolled on the film, which we'd both seen before, the final statement appeared about John and June's life together.  Thirty-five years of marriage, until she passed away in 2003, and he followed her swiftly, four months after.  Something in my chest opened up and threatened to engulf me in one great howling sob.  I let it flow.  Blissful tears for a moment or two, and then gone.  My sweet sister was quite taken aback.  She doesn't always know how to handle my strangeness, and un-British behaviour like that.

You know, whilst standing in a queue at London Victoria, Jo made a reference to something that I didn't think she could have known if she hadn't read my new blog.  So I asked her about it, and she sort of made a painful, wincing face.  It was quick; so quick.  She didn't want me to see it.  She didn't intend any hurt.  But it was like she'd seen it but hadn't really wanted to.  Like catching your mother  naked, on her way to the bathroon.  Too much open authenticity for her. 

That's ok.  I understand.  In a way I do feel like I'm standing there, shamelessly baring all for the neighbours to see.  And not caring.  That's what it feels like to try to put yourself out there sometimes, and say, "Hey, I'm a writer. Come and see my stuff."  But if you didn't do it, you'd just carry on muddling along with the housework, and dying a bit more inside.  It's double or nothing for me now.  I'm commited to change and bold new steps forward.  And maybe if it gets too freaky at times, I'll just laugh and say "Eat my dust"... but I won't really mean it. 

On the subject of nudity now.  Yesterday was my first Life Drawing class on the art course.  I was feeling pretty apprehensive.  So far the tutor has been dishing out plenty of 'constructive criticism' in my direction, and I am not a believer in the value of that.  Really, it doesn't achieve a damn thing.  Only crushes confidence and enthusiasm.  As I've said before, my own Inner Critic will do the job qutie effectively enough.  And a good teacher doesn't need to give 'constructive' feedback, or even bloody 'teacher sandwiches' as they often get called.  A good teacher lays out the ideas, rules (if they exist) and possibilities, and then facilitates the students' process through the learning journey.  But all learning essentially has to come from self-realization otherwise it doesn't mean a damn thing. 

But back to the nudity.

Well, what can I say?  Such a specimen of manhood.  What a pleasure to appreciate such a work of Nature's Art.  He wasn't a young guy ( I heard someone whisper that he was nearly 60), but there's a lot to be said for the beauty of maturity. 

And, being so inspired, and paying such close attention, my work came along well and received much praise from my formerly reticent tutor.  A wonderful day all round.  Perhaps my drawing skills don't stink after all.  I came home inspired and eager to learn more. 

And now, off to bed.  Sleepy lids drifting south.
Much love and blessings. 

getting ready to reveal my new look!

OK, do you want to take a sneaky peak at what I'm working on? 
I wasn't going to show you yet, but after much tinkering, I'm feeling pretty pleased with it. So far.  

It's a steep learning curve, and more than once I've felt like pulling the plug on the whole WordPress install and settling comfortably back into my old Blogger retreat.  But that's not progress.  I'm like a woman obsessed at the moment.  If you can smell the drive and ambition, and it's putting you off ~ get used to it.  This is where I'm going. 

So, here's a test post I wrote last week, which hasn't been published here:  

Back To My Roots

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Abundant Blessings & Gratitude