This time last year, I created this website!! Gosh I tussled with whether or not it was the right time, was I ready, does it align with my heart's true desires, and what about my root chakra?! Oh the procrastination, the excuses, the self talk. Anyway, in a moment of clarity or self-butt-kicking, I made it.
The first blog post I shared here was a personal Taking Stock post inspired, no copied from Pip Lincolne's Meet me at Mike's blog.
It's been a year now, so to celebrate the fact that I made this thing in the first place, and also the fact that I haven't yet pulled it down mid artistic perfectionism rage, I thought I'd do it again. It's part milestone-marking, part emotional therapy. You may want to go back and read the last one if you are interested in studying the progress/regress of my mental space.
I'd love to read your version of taking stock. Choose five categories and add yours in the comments.
Here it is, one year on.
Making : The jackpot green smoothie recipe that my vegophobe child loves. Lots of spinach, lots of blueberries, a little spirulina, a dessert spoon of RAW protein powder, a sprinkle of bee pollen, a little maple syrup, and enough water to blend to favourite consistency. She can't get enough of it.
Drinking : Liquorice tea. The pack says don't consume in excessive amounts. I don't know how much that is, but I think I'm giving it a nudge.
Reading: John Olsen, an artists life by Darleen Bungey. Also a Kurt Vonnergut number for my book club, but that one isn't going so well for me.
Wanting: Spring, that is all.
Looking: Westernport Bay. I can see a lot of it from my kitchen and lounge and if I counted the minutes I spend looking out there, I'd arrest myself for crimes against productivity. But I'm not going to count them.
Playing: Lego. Even when the kids aren't around. I'm hoping my fingers stay in good shape so that I can spend my geriatric years doing Lego.
Deciding: Whether to go to the footy on Friday night or not.
Wishing: That the political life attracted a higher calibre of person.
Enjoying: Living just footsteps from the beach. Laziness + inspiration.
Waiting: For a parcel or three in the mail. Weekend binge.
Liking: Celery. Obviously with peanut butter because they are just meant for each other.
Wondering: What I'll do next.
Loving: The salty seaweed smell every time I arrive home.
Pondering: Did my husband actually say the words this morning "When can we go shopping?" Um....WHAT?!
Considering: A MacBook Pro
Watching: Anything that involves Waleed Ali speaking his mind. Not The Batchelor.
Hoping: I can finish this before school assembly.
Marvelling: At someone's ability to keep their head under tantrum-worthy conditions, and come out sailing.
Needing: Less approval these days.
Smelling: Daffodils and jonquils that my gorgeous husband picked and brought home from his weekend camp. Awww.
Wearing: Things that are not as dirty as the other things.
Following: Bridget Beth Collins, also known as Flora.Forager on Instagram. My gosh she spends her days well.
Noticing: The shifting seasons, both outside and inside me.
Knowing: That I’m the luckiest person I know. Still.
Thinking: That this probably shouldn't take as long to complete as it is. But that's taking stock isn't it. You're meant to slow down, reflect, ponder and wonder and slowly move on will a new clearer perspective of where you are.
Feeling: I little bit proud. Me a few years ago would not even have considered holding a private studio sale. Too scary.
Admiring: My daughters.
Sorting: Nothing. Nothing last year, still nothing this year.
Buying: As little as possible, especially in the fluffy-toy-cat-with-colourful-tail genre, despite my youngest's admirable campaign. Obviously the weekend splurge doesn't count.
Getting: My lunch, which looks much more like breakfast.
Bookmarking: Brain Pickings on Facebook! I can't get enough of Maria Popovas interestingness and neither it seems, can 3.6 million others. I might be a late comer to this party....
Disliking: My dog losing every single ball down the same hole in the deck. Under the house there is a bonanza of colourful balls waiting to be discovered by a critter smaller than him. Thought kelpies were smart...?
Opening: My eyes a little earlier, a little easier thanks to the darling sun and her early rising ways. It is inhumane to require people to wake up in the dark.
Coveting: A MacBook Pro
Helping: My dog to learn that balls dropped down holes do not come back.
Hearing: Clare Bowditch's sweet encouragement in "The Winter I Chose Happiness". She speaks in a language I really understand.
Learning: That I can go my own way, and that there is no other.
Long, long ago in a life I can hardly remember, I worked in the fashion industry. Designer, Fashion Buyer and Visual Merchandiser were all badges I once proudly wore. When someone asked me what I did, I was very happy be able to tell them something that seemed cool, creative and interesting. (Actually back in those days, no one knew what a Visual Merchandiser was.) I was bored, frustrated and unstimulated in these jobs, but I felt compensated by the “cool” factor. I thought that creative sounding careers were just that – careers that sound creative. I didn’t know anyone who was actually satisfied in their creative career. I was creatively numb, but I felt safe and accepted. My concept for the spring store layout and window display was approved by my boss before it was rolled out to 100 stores. My men’s knitwear range was discussed and tweaked and fine tuned by a team of people who knew their stuff before 1000s of units were shipped from faraway lands and distributed around the country. I confidently showed the product of my labour, it fit the brief, and everyone smiled. I’m not saying that the rag trade is all easy, but at that time for me, I was in a comfort zone with padded walls. I couldn’t lose.
These days I’ve swapped the safety, security and straight-jacket of those jobs, for the Tarzan swing of independent art (let’s be real – I swapped it for full-time motherhood and I wedge art into the spaces). I don’t have a senior colleague to run things past before I make a big move, there is no team to collaborate with on the next collection, no manual to consult over how things should be done.
There are a million different ways to work as an artist. My way right now is as a one-girl-band. I leap from assured self-confidence, sometimes swinging all the way across to trembling fear, often swaying somewhere in the middle known as vulnerability.
We hear from all corners lately that vulnerability is powerful, important, and the key to human connection. Brene Brown’s Ted Talk articulates this beautifully and if you haven’t heard it I highly recommend you do. My paintings are not finished until I am supremely happy with them, and once I’ve reach that point it I don’t really mind what anyone else’s reaction to them is because I’ve already spent hours and hours listening to my own inner critic and cheer squad. I’ve already heard it all, good and bad. That process is my work, and I love it.
One of my favourite quotes is from American artist Georgia O’Keefe who said in regards to her work:
“I have already settled it for myself so flattery and criticism go down the same drain and I am quite free”.
I really relate to this now, but years ago....not so much.
I used to be very reluctant to show my work to anyone in case they didn’t like it. I knew they wouldn’t say so, but I’d “just know” they didn’t like it and that would be awful. I was so reluctant that I would hide pieces when people came over. If no one thought badly of my work then there was still a chance that I was a talented artist with a bright future right? I know it sounds ridiculous now, and I a teeny bit embarrassed writing it here (vulnerability right?). In reality, my efforts to avoid certain judgement, shame, disappointment and embarrassment, were also ensuring I never experienced the joy, satisfaction, sense of accomplishment, and deep pleasure of embracing the truth of who I am and what I do. In avoiding the downsides, I was ripping myself off of the upsides and not just in my art, but in everything. The risk of showing who I truly was, was so great to me then, because if I failed at being me, then what else was there?
Clearly, the risk of not showing up as myself was so much greater.
I don’t expect everyone to rave about my work, nor to even mildly like it. When I exhibit new paintings, I’ve already had the tussle for hours on end in creating it, and enjoyed every minute of the tussle because it’s me. The idea was me, the painting is me, the imperfections are me. It’s my expression of who I was and what I felt during those hours. Each time I exhibit a painting, or snap a page of my sketchbook for Instagram, or spill my guts in a blog I'm reminded that now I get to be me. I’m not a fashion puppet anymore (no offense). There a little celebration going on inside every time, and it has nothing to do with how many “likes” I got. This is me being completely me, and the more me I am, the better I feel, the better I paint, the better I write, parent, connect, love. I feel vulnerable for sure, and occasionally it’s excruciating but it doesn't stop me from allowing people to see me, not anymore.
The fact is, we all spend our lives swinging on the rope of vulnerability. Being open to possibility means open to every possibility and if you are not willing to be vulnerable to the feelings you don’t want (fear, shame, embarrassment, disappointment) then you also won’t be there for the elation, excitement, the bliss. The pendulum (and the Tarzan swing) swings both left and right, or not at all.
I once lamented that I 'd never be able to paint or draw like the artists I admired. But I've realised that they also can't paint or draw like me. That's the whole point! We don't expect to be "as good as" someone else, just as good as we can be every time we apply ourselves to the practise.
I don’t expect to ever make a painting that will be loved and celebrated by all; in fact I don’t think anyone ever has.
This has been a few months coming, but I can wait no longer, nor should you have to.
The little critter you see below is the Sand Bubbler Crab, and I met him and his squillion relatives late last year on a family holiday up north, way north.
I have much to say about this encounter and I'm not sure that I'll get it all out today, so might be just a meet and greet.
It wasn't the crabs we encountered first but, but the work of the crabs. We had spent most of our first day travelling and taking care of logistics, such as making sure we had enough tropical produce and watercolour paper for the week we'd spend deep in the Daintree Rainforest. On day two, we were ready to expel any remnant funk of our long Peninsula winter and to immerse ourselves in sweet tropical happiness.
After an early morning session on the deck, and second stop is obviously the beach, and here is where the wonder and amazement began.
As we walked on the the beach, it was clearly low tide and our isolation was apparent. It was one of those beaches where you think there's a chance you might be the first person to step onto it - except that the was a stick tied to a rope, tied to a tree, so the discovery wasn't ours but at least the'd left us a swing. Once I'd tested out the swing and then been kicked off by my littl'ns, I noticed an uneven texture to the sand right across the whole beach. We had all day, actually we had all week, so I went for a little wander. I cannot think of a word that adequately conveys my delight at discovering what this "texture" on the sand was. Part thrill, part enchantment, part David Attenborough curiosity. I think it was the thrill component (certainly high pitched) that came out of my mouth as I insisted everyone else stop what they're doing and get their eyes to this magic right now!!!!
My family were suitably impressed which meant that I didn't need to spend the following days trying to put my awe into words for them. They got it. At this point we still didn't know how these tiny pearls of sand came to be, and we had no mobile coverage for googling. There weren't even any locals to ask for a few days.
Of the week we spent in the Daintree, not a day went by that I didn't gaze into these mini creations and marvel. Marvel at their number, their precision, the incredible shapes they were laid in and the sheer work ethic of the thing that put them there. Wandering along the beach at Cape Tribulation a few days later we saw our first Sand Bubbler Crab. The teeniest little creatures, only visible when they moved, cover the beaches in these little spheres every low tide. Watch the vid up top for an explanation from Sir Attenborough himself.
What has this holiday brag got to do with drawing and painting and whatever else it is artists do? Well everything now. My creative life is now divided clearly into the Pre-Bubbler Crab period and now the Post-Bubbler period. Crouching down, studying the little gems in their arrangements I first thought "Wow, Mother Nature must be pissing her pants at the slop that us two-legged hacks call art". Compared to this, how was anything I created going to be a thing of "beauty".
A few days later, I changed my attitude. There was a reason I was so taken with this. A reason why I couldn't get enough. People are drawn to different things at different times. Not everyone was as obsessed with these forms on the beach as I was. (Equally, I was not as "into" the roadhouse-style chicken and chips on offer as some others were.) Some people are moved by birds in formation, others by the drama of a thunderstorm. I think that marvels of nature like this are placed on the earth for the joy and inspiration of those who "see" them. They challenge us to look closer, sit more quietly, for longer, and see what happens, see what's possible.
Rather than laughing at me, I think Mother Nature has issued me a challenge. Sand Bubbler crabs create from instinct, from their source, from their truth. They're not trying to out do each other, or or imitate, or impress. They get up out of their burrows and do what they do because that's what they do and the rhythm of the turning tide is their deadline. That I happen to stand around, take notice and indeed be moved by the results of their actions is irrelevant. They're doing it whether I'm there gushing or not.
The challenge afoot is for me to do the same. To work and create from my truest, deepest me. To work on, regardless of the opinions of those around me good or bad. And to let myself be guided by the natural rhythms that are around me.
In essence - get out of my own way and let the art emerge.
Last week I wrote about the sweet and sometimes spiky meandering path I’ve walked over the past decade or so to arrive at the little clearing I’m at now – the clearing where the big scary monster-trees have all taken three steps back, and settled into their armchairs where they smile, patiently watching the slow-bubbling potential before them, and ready to assist. It’s quite Lord of the Rings huh. If you haven’t read last week’s instalment, then maybe go read that first HERE. What I was planning to write last week quickly turned into something else, so I’m back today to try again.
Yoga has become so much a part of me now that it’s less a practice I “do”, and more a skin I live in. And if I’m likening it to skin, then I admit that occasionally it’s clear and peachy smooth like a newborn babe (but not my eczema-ish babes), but mostly my “yoga skin” is a little blemished and scarred. Imperfect. My asana practice (physical poses) will always be important because I enjoy feeling strong and straight and light, but my yoga these days is more off the mat than on.
It’s some of the lesser taught aspects of yoga that now as an artist, I practise constantly. You may have heard the Yamas and Niyamas mentioned in your yoga class, but probably not. They are just as important to yoga as Downward Dog or Warrior pose; actually I think they are more important. If you are after a full explanation of the Yamas and Niyamas then you'll find it HERE. In short, they are guiding principles for how we may live our lives in a way that is optimal for mind, body and spirit. In loose terms the yamas and niyamas discuss things such as non-stealing, non-violence, contentment, and perseverance. Common sense, but not very common.
These days, I apply Ahimsa (non-violence) to my inner critic. An inner verbal bashing is not helpful to my work today, and it won’t be tomorrow either. Harsh words have an energy that hangs around, a kind of stink. Ahimsa doesn’t suppress violence, be it in words or actions, it extends kindness and love. And my once brutal inner critic can’t get a word in.
I apply Saucha (Purity/Cleanliness) to myself and my space. To tidy up my studio from time to time and a quick shower each morning is just basic maintenance right, but Saucha is not quite so “do a job-tick a box” as that. I do de-clutter the studio at least weekly, but for me Saucha is more internal. It’s clearing out the cobwebs in my head as well as the studio ceiling. It’s putting good, clean, pure things into my body (most of the time), because I know that’s how good things flow out, for me. It’s indoor plants. Its drinking enough water to make up for the coffee and putting my pencil sharpenings in the bin.
And then there’s Tapas. Not the small morsels of chorizo-spiked deliciousness. Tapas is the generating of heat, the concentrated practise, the perseverance. In other words, it’s getting the damned work done. Just getting on with it. No excuses, no whinging, just getting on with it. Tapas is rolling out your mat and getting started even though you don’t really feel like it and you probably haven’t got time. Tapas is picking up the pencil/brush/camera, whether inspiration has rained upon you today or not. Tapas is the opposite of procrastination.
That’s just the tip of the iceberg as far as the things yoga has taught me that make me a better artist. Not better than another artist, just a better artist than I otherwise may be. But honestly, I don’t think I’d be doing this at all, this that I’ve always dreamed of. Thanks yoga. You’re awesome.
This is not about colouring in mandalas, not that there’s anything wrong with that.
It’s about how a disheartened creative becomes a yogi, in order to learn how to be an artist.
For yogis and artists, this sentence makes complete sense; in a “duh” stating the obvious kind of way. To everyone else, the kook-hippy-tosser-new-agey-self-help-book sirens are blaring. Don’t worry, it’s only me.
Let me save you from the pain and boredom involved in having to read my entire life story, but its sufficient to say that the second sentence pretty much covers the last 10-15 years for me. I didn’t know it at the time of course but hindsight is sharp and sometimes pointy.
Seven years ago, around the time I was becoming a yoga teacher, I desperately wanted to be an artist, but I would never have admitted it. The person that I was at that time was not at all ready to personally commit, or to stand up in front of the universe and call myself an artist. Why? Because I still believed (at 30ish and since teenhood) that the universe would laugh at me, in fact I thought it was already pointing and laughing each time I popped my head outside of the proverbial square. I was in a creative career, but it was the type that had very high barbed wire walls fixed around my creativity. (No, I was not the seamstress at Pentridge). Having already practised yoga for many years, I did have an inkling that the universe probably wasn't the complete tossbag that I was perceiving, but also that it would take a lot of learning and unlearning on my part if I was ever to understand this possibility.
A couple of months in to my teacher training, our meditation teacher asked us to get into pairs and sit cross legged, face to face, knee touchingly close. Maintaining eye contact, one person asks “Who are you really?” and their pair answers, continuing talking until there is nothing left to say. Maintaining eye contact!!! Do not try this at home. All seemed ok while I was talking, but once I stopped, read my partners face, and realised what I’d just spewed out about my family, about my childhood, about my fears, about my insecurities. I actually wanted to vomit. Of course it was a complete set up by the teacher to illustrate to us broken mirror we see ourselves in, how harshly we judge, how closed our minds, and how tightly we hold onto our own bullshit. Keep in mind this is a room full of peacelovin’, herbal tea drinkin’, Tibetan sock wearin’, hug squeezin’ future yoga teachers. (If you were one of the people in the room that day, please don’t be offended by my stereotyping. You get my drift though right?)
I flipped a switch that day. I was appalled at what had come out of my mouth when asked who I really was. I'm not the shy child or the grasping-for-acceptance teen. I have been, but I’m not. I switched off apprehensive and switch on self-assured. I switched off shy and switched on brave. There are still a few switches I’d like to flip and I'm working on those (with yoga and meditation of course).
Now that the universe and I are working more closely, creativity flows much more freely. Now that I’ve fixed my broken mirror, I can see what I’m making and appreciate where it sits along the windy track of my career and indeed, life. I don’t love and adore everything that flows from my pencil or paint brush (or ink pen, oh la la) but I now know that it’s not necessary to love and adore everything. What’s important is that I keep creating, developing and learning and stuffing up, and celebrating and if you do yoga or if you meditate, you know exactly what I mean.
So it’s really true. It’s the year 2015. Contrary to what we were led to believe when as youngsters we watched a science show called Towards 2000, we actually don’t swallow our meals in capsule form, our cars don’t hover above the surface of the road and we still have no comprehensive manual for raising a child. Instead we’ve got the Thermomix, Skylanders and sexting, none of which I’ve needed yet.
It’s nice to get a little introspective at the beginning of a new year. To think back over the previous year, successes and failures, wins, losses, and still-not-sures, a little self study; it’s an important armchair (or banana lounge) journey that needs to be taken. I’m a fairly contemplative person and I get this way about every half-hour, 365 days a year, so I like January when everyone else joins in.
We spent the first half of 2014 in a bit of domestic limbo. With a fairly spontaneous house purchase, we quickly swung into house selling mode. This was closely followed by packing mode, moving mode, live-out-of-suitcase-for-a-month mode, and finally unpacking mode. When I popped my head up to take a breath, June!! There’s nothing quite like a little self inflicted whirlwind to shake you out of the rut you didn’t know you were in.
Instead of painting (studio packed in boxes for four months), I did lots of drawing last year, a practise that I hadn’t given much time to recently. Within this drawing practise I rediscovered some materials I hadn’t used in years. Oh the joy of really great coloured pencils!! ...and the aggravation of bad ones!! I also found some new loves. How you doin’ ink brush/pen thingy ;)
Pastels, watercolours, pens, markers; yes it’s been an expensive year, but a year of learning and many firsts. I’ve spent many creative years successfully avoiding drawing faces. If we've hung around together on Facebook (and if we haven’t, please let’s FB) you'll know that last year I drew a buzillion faces. The fact that I'm even on facebook at all is a fairly big deal too. I’ve always been very careful (ok, fearful) about who saw my work and which finished piece they saw. I would never have shown you casual sketching or work in progress. Growth man!
Last year my art was about growth, experimentation, and finding a joyous rhythm to life now that my babies are both at school. I'm not sure I found the joyous rhythm, and that was probably not a realistic expectation, given we are living without a dishwasher. But the opportunities to experiment without pressure, and grow both creatively and personally, to lay my sketchbooks open for anyone who cares to look feels far less painful than I’d imagined. Actually, it feels really good.
So I am leaning in to 2015. I've got a new pretty diary and I'm ready for the next adventure. I'm ready to continue the experiment, to marvel at the ghastly explosions as well as the beautiful breakthroughs.
I have squandered many years, but I won’t waste this one.
.....when does school go back?
Over the weekend, we found ourselves with an unexpected, completely plan-free day. A whole day!! Our weeks and weekends are usually pretty busy, and full of great things we want to do such as various lessons, kids parties, social get-togethers, etc. As much as these are all things we enjoy and choose to do and refuse to tear ourselves away from, it’s busy all the time. I’m sure you know what I mean. Anyway, this one gorgeous sunny Sunday was suddenly free. Totally free. So we cruised. Not the party-boat type of cruise, more the swanning about doing whatever we fancied for the entire day type of cruise. It was delicious.
Somewhere in the middle of the day (clocks schmocks on such a day), I cosied up with some new alcohol markers for a little experimentation. Every new art material purchase is closely followed by some serious experimentation sessions. What can they do, what can’t they do, how do they compare to other similar things I have, how do they combine with other materials I have, all this multiplied by several surfaces (various papers, board, canvas, etc). The reason for this is pretty much just to find out if I need to go buy MORE, or if they are destined for art material exile – also known as the kids craft box.
While experimenting, both my little people came over and marvelled with me at my new purchase and the joy that was making its way onto my page (...yep, safely in the “buy more” category). They asked if they could have turn, and (although it wasn’t my first instinct) I said “Sure”. They didn’t want their own page, and they didn’t want to draw a picture. They wanted to do exactly what I was doing, which was fairly unexciting, precise and controlled shading and blending exercises. So they did, and they were fascinated. I could go on and on here about what a beautiful session we spent; mother and daughters learning, discovering and laughing together; me gazing at their sweet little hands, and seeing into their souls.... but I won’t.
The point is that I started thinking about the way we approach the teaching and learning of art to children. Our culture tends to sit on the side of the fence which says that artistic ability is a special gift bestowed at conception that you either have or you don’t, and those who don’t need not bother. I sit on the other side of the fence which says we all have artistic potential which can be developed. Those who enjoy it practise frequently over many years and become pretty good as a result. (What and how we determine work to be “pretty good” – that’s a whole seperate blog!) Lots of people don’t enjoy it, so spend no time practising and don’t develop proficiency in that area and are completely happy that way. But there’s an enormous crowd of people in between though, who wish they could draw, love and appreciate art or fantasise about one day taking up painting or sculpture etc. They don’t do it because “they are no good at it” or “don’t have a creative bone in the body”. Is there any other pastime, hobby activity in life where it is readily accepted that you wouldn’t take it up because you can’t do it? Won’t take up piano because I can’t play....... won’t cook because once I made something and it was terrible...... Ridiculous right?
There is just so much joy to be gained if you are one of those in between people, and the goal doesn’t need to be international acclaim. Go get yourself some skills!! Learn how your tools work both the actual tools - the papers, the pencils, the pastels, the paints, the clay - and also how to utilise the mental tools. There are lots of places you can learn, without ever needing to show your work to anyone (because that’s the clincher right? Having to show someone your work and inevitably feel their judgement). Online classes, there are loads. Brilliant books such as Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards, and The Artists Way by Julia Cameron will open up a whole new world and these are both books I still refer back to regularly. I only know this because I have experienced it. My upbringing was brilliant, but it wasn’t in a creative community where artistic flair was a useful and highly valued attribute. A cute novelty for sure, but certainly not one worth pursuing.
Hanging out on a Sunday afternoon with their Mumma, the girls learned a new skill and that skill will at sometime appear in their own drawings, paintings and for one of them at least, in the elaborate borders she draws around her spelling words! These impromptu skills sessions happen reasonably often around here, just like a footy session with Dad in the backyard. Let’s treat art just a tiny bit more like we treat footy. That your handballs are all over the place is not a reason to write yourself off for life. Yeah, the particularly tall kid might be born with a bit of an advantage but without the practising of skills, forget it.
Ok so I may have failed to mention that I had this little website. It's been here for a while, but it needed a lot of work to make it "just right" before I showed anyone. Well I've been telling myself that little story for too long now so what the heck, I'm opening the doors and inviting you in. It's not perfect, it might not ever be, but it's here and I'd love for you to come in and look around.
I saw this idea about "Taking Stock" on the blog of an artist I'm really liking, and who I met earlier in the year Jasmine Mansbridge. I believe the idea originally came from clever Pip Lincolne, and it seems like she is happy to share it. Yay for Pip!
Making : Almost everything out of a new recipe book Community by Hetty McKinnon.
Drinking : Spi Chai tea. Herbal and so so fragrant; it must be good for me.
Reading: Mirka Mora’s My Life, wicked but virtuous. Hearing her voice in my mind.
Wanting: New jeans, again.
Looking: At still unpacked boxes and so much stuff I haven’t found a home for yet.
Playing: With our new wonderdog. We both know he is more intelligent than me.
Deciding: Which yoga class to go to this week, a newie or an old faithful.
Wishing: A highly efficient domestic fairy would come and finish my unpacking.
Enjoying: My new fancy pencils (Prismacolors). An unnecessary indulgence at the time, now vital.
Waiting: For Monday so I can dive back into the studio. Yep, love Mondays.
Liking: Michael Muir. I saw his work at Melbourne Art Fair, and I’m fascinated. Love it.
Wondering: If anyone is still reading this…
Loving: The sun!! It came out today just to remind me that mud and shivering isn’t forever.
Pondering: a second Ferrero Rocher, since the first one seems to have gone missing. Weird.
Considering: Going to bed before 9pm every night for a month. I know, I’m hardcore man.
Watching: Interviews with the late BKS Iyenger. It took him 7-8 years of yoga to get from constantly sick to healthy. Who sticks with anything for that long? I’m so glad he did.
Hoping: For world peace, but its not looking likely at the moment. I swear I’m doing my bit…
Marvelling: At the resilience of others.
Needing: Nail polish remover.
Smelling: Seaweed, which used to be “horrible” to me, but now it smells like home. So lucky.
Wearing: Thongs tomorrow, and I don’t care if its raining.
Following: My intuition so much more often these days, and no disasters so far.
Noticing: That I’m not as disciplined as I thought I was, but I’m working on it.
Knowing: That I’m the luckiest person I know.
Thinking: That this is probably a bit of a cop out as a first blog post. Ah what the heck.
Feeling: Like maybe a third Ferrero Rocher is not out of the question.
Admiring: My clever friend, artist Jenny Riddle.
Sorting: Nothing!! But man, I should be…
Buying: Food, food, food, food, its never ending. Is it really necessary to eat so constantly?
Getting: My nightcap. Another cup of tea, this time Tummy Tea (T2). Hardcore remember?
Bookmarking: House porn.
Disliking: The leaking washing machine. As if pulling off the domestic goddess charade is not hard enough!!
Opening: A gorgeous thank you message from the happy receiver of my latest painting. Big smile.
Coveting: Pretty watercolours in travel friendly packaging.
Helping: Myself to that third Ferrero.
Hearing: Silence whenever the opportunity arises.
Learning: To trust my gut. It knows stuff.