managed some exercise this morning, glory - been too crippled since moving next to studio and exercise machine to have a go. Not sure if its worth it, if one should lie down and accept the inevitable, but I doo feel somewhat friskier.
Working on larvae in the Aude now.
Somewhat belatedly, decided to improve my health. This involves moving bedrooms. The new bedroom has an accessible shower so I can stand under hot water and move in the mornings, arthritis being what it is. Next to that is an exercise bike, so I can improve muscle function.
So far, preparing new bedroom is killing me :) Had to clean and prepare. Tomorrow will do bed and start schlepping stuff.
Managed to finish this en passant -
Miserable about my poor skills, ineptitude, slight vision.
On the other hand, there's a glimmer...
Alarmed at the angst this nonsense is requiring.
cleaned studio - a bit - finished two nature drawings... would like to say I'm on a roll but l'm not.
Decades of drawings finally binned. It's done, done and dusted... could even walk across the room, sit at the drawing table and draw. Slightly light headed with this freedom.
That's not to say I can use it, of course; roof menders, meals to be prepared, stuff.
Have agreed, health permitting, to be resident artist for WOSC at Lady Margaret Hall in Oxford in September. This minutes before drawings turned up from the Burnside Conference in Greenwich, the first time I'd done it: didn't bin them anyway.
Was about to list others and realise I'm in danger of becoming a death cult.
Studio work continues, bafflingly daft.
Shopping morning... then working in studio, so good though still clearing as I go. Just an extra layer of chaos. I like chaos.
And this too - filled a too-big gap with the words from Isaiah, in French.
Despite a sense of anaemia - intellectual bloodlessness, what's that called? - lots of ideas.
Just been to the denuding of Patricia Malfi's studio. Her husband has decided its time to sell so contents can be distributed among artists. Grave robbing. Took her palette knives, loads of tissue paper (really hard to get in France), some oil pastels. Hey ho, they'll be trying to clear mine out soon enough.
Still no product - maybe I've retired - still not sorted the studio.
Woken by the dream, the burnt out helicopter on the roof.
Masses of rather nice prints and gouaches emerged, pretty in some cases and in some cases inks on top of etchings, terribly pretty. Not ready to chuck them. will order some portfolios on line, maybe they exist - the ones I've made in the past and that these things were stored in are sort of crunchy, since I would cut up boxes and glue fabric over them. Not a long-lasting thang. And I don't like them.
It seems of one my asthma drugs, one that works well for me, promotes mood swings, psychotic episodes and suicides. I asked Ian how one might know if one were psychotic and he said, by the trail of bodies...
Miserable day and I just got soaked. Time for a hot bath and a chance to read Ruth Brandons Surreal Lives. Enjoyed it so far, well put together IMHO
among many large drawings is this one of the view from the third window of the Woolwich studio. Painstaking; evocative.
Here's Louix from her performance days ('96 at Fordham Park) She packed in a lot when she was young - which is as well as she was only 54 when she died, at 20.45 on Wednesday 28th Feb.
She'd done some crowdfunding and had enough money to do a few months of touring before the predicted end, but the cancers were too advanced. The plan had been to get here again which would have been just great... but alas.
Our friendship began when we had a shared lover - and turned into a joyful, hysterical, BF -type thing until I moved to France. She came here once and I went to her sea-side retreat once but by then I was somewhat infirm and travel was expensive and hard for us both. We kept in sporadic touch.
Dear Louix was not ready to die. Her daughter had decided it was time to have a child and she wanted to share that with her. Plus, 54... no age really. Ive spent the last few days mourning.
Slowly shifting stuff in the studio. Been binning drawings and prints unless they are portraits.
rather an odd picture of David Walser... and again
Here's Jan
Back in France. Not so much back at work - made various decisions while away and my next endeavours will be about stocktaking and consolidation.
It's sure you can't get jet lag doing the london/carcassonne trip but I am overwhelmed by the changes, else l would sound off at length about said thinking.
Another day.
...emptying the mountain in the second studio, the contents of the attic that has been arrayed everywhere. Sodding nightmare. All this past stuff. Haven't opened any of the portfolios yet. Cant find the flock gun ( = van der graff generator,) but have tremendous amount of flock. Dirty, dusty, upsetting.
So, in my absence, an attic has been emptied into a studio. Started trying to sort it today. Not that sensible, given the dust and debris...
and had another go at Pete's portrait.
Seen a courting couple of herons; a dipper; a shag; buds are appearing. Not so much awareness of lurking death now that life returns.
Where is the wildlife? No bats, no fish, no boar, no bears...
Ill... totally laid out. Tried to get moving this morning and succeeded up to a point; back in bed by midi.
Dreams handy.
Even the nice spider in my bedroom has disappeared.
I'm rubbish anyway, cold and feverish and snotty beyond belief. Tendency to fall asleep if sat down..
And so sad... Mike Hinc has died.
Could be that's part of the authenticity of a nature diary?? Oh, can't think. Bad sleep.
-Gods Walking back home. Le Heathy couldn't cope!! I like it far more now.
