Dead flower stuff crossing over with the flower fairies of youth... not sure what direction these are going in but alarming that dead flowers continue to die, they aren't static, things change even when I don't expect them to.
Been reading the journals of Emily Carr whose work I've never much liked, too mannered for me - got dragged to her show in Dulwich and liked her even less though one or two were almost to my taste - was given the journals by a fan. The bloody woman sounds just like me! She moans and compares and contrasts and despairs AND she has nose-bleeds AND she reads Ouspenski... hundred years ago and nothing changes. Doubt that I'II be able to finish the book as I keep throwing it across the room.
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