New excuse for doing bugger-all; some kind of cold has thwapped me sideways. Not unpleasant, dosed up with pharmaceuticals, reading and dozing in front of tely. Little downstairs computer has packed up so research has to stop - Bob is away and common decency means I have to sit with parrots or they feel bereft. Just as well as research is overwhelming me, damn thing turning into a thesis which is not, not, my intention.
-Back from Sete, a miraculous little holiday with my brother Matt. He's newly widowed and coping with a bereaved family. I'm finding Ians death has strange repercussions.
Went drawing last night with a newly-established art group, fantastically depressing. Thomas-from-Paris a decent bloke; interesting, indeed. But the room was packed and the quality of the work being proffered - was overwhelmed with the horror of endless repetitions of misunderstood turn-of-the-century artworks.
----At least, that's what I would have said before I learnt to be non-judgemental.
My own work was crap too, which didn't help. Can't go back. Enough futility in the studio without extending it. How many drawings have I done over how many years? Many thousands still cluttering up what storage there is in the studio. Pointless except for the three or four that escaped my control to teach me something - at least (last nights little comfort) I've managed to destroy my facility for glibness.
Memories of drawing Ian over the last thirty-five years flashing over me. Futility, loss, purposelessness are my handmaidens today and for the foreseeable.
... camera broke. It's at the menders, with all my lifes' information, and the snaps of the watercolours I did in the mountains. Not particularly noteworthy.
On Friday morning my right eye was lasered free of the veil that had obscured it. That's when I discovered the phone/camera was broken. Was testing the eye by the river and saw a young otter, not much longer than my hand and wrist, plus tail of the same length. Sliding over the rocks, in and out of the water.
For a variety of associated reasons, thats when I thought Ian might be dead.
Went to his house and the meal I'd left for him the night before was still on the doorstep. Radio on furiously loud, no lights. Went home and got his key...
He was lying in his bed, comfortably, head resting on one hand, fast asleep; but grey. And when I touched his shoulder, it was icy. Cant shake the sight of him in my minds eye. Will no doubt have to paint it to shift it.
The need to engage is slowly returning. Dibbling with bits. Studying 1st century Palestine so now its in my dreams.
Good news; the mural I made for Ferren is approved of by the purchasers of the house and they'll be keeping it, according to the house agent I met this morning. Pleased; it was an honest piece. Which I can't find a photo of -
Had a crack at a watercolour on Weds when Bob kindly drove me to the vineyards above Luc-sur-Aude - lovely, no-one about, misty. And wet. Didn't mind the rain but the mist actually obscured my vision - sitting in low cloud will do that, it seems. Plus my thermos of water leaked so my watercolour papers were wet but patchily, not usefully. No big deal.
Enjoyed the outing.
In the event found several typos but couldn't find out how to change them -! So off it goes, for pedants to enjoy.
Discovered that my WikiP page has disappeared. I'm un-personed, cant find out why or how to restore it. Does it matter? I hadn't seen it for years... it might have been missing for a decade hahaha BUT did find other sites referring to it and also sundry sites that are long dead, including the reproof of the soul which I used to like, and the dressing table site. If I can find them again, can I copy them? If I can copy them, where do I put them? Oh la, this is not my decade.
Discovered also that my robovac is so old you cant get parts for it. It has outlived its time. Sigh.
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Woah, here's the hermes trig stuff, until l can open my site and put it there. Or I might just go for a walk.
Vanilla Beer - HERMES TRISMEGISTOS
Going to put out Death: A Work in Progress as a kindle book and the creators of these things are insisting that I check it for errors. So that's today done for, sigh.
It's fresh and wet here, makes many things possible. Sitting in front of a computer not the favourite choice, though I have all the worlds' known music to play the while, thanks to youtube.
Cool enough for a long morning walk. Found I was spotting places I want to paint - watercolour some landscapes. Achievable, if the weather stays agreeable.
Off for exercise tests at Carcassonne hospital to determine what's up with my mechanism. Not looking forward to it.
I had a dream :)
I woke and needed to get something from the bedside table, but the light wouldn't work. Bulb gone. Odd. So I found the switch for the room light and that didn't work either. A power cut: no doubt the heat.
The noise that woke me was continuing so I walked to the window in the dark and found a different landscape from my impasse. There was a large garden and a road curving round it at the bottom, the mountains in the distance. It was lit by a huge dinosaur, as I thought, or truncated enormous ant-eater: Luminous white hair covered it, matted and spikey and stiff looking. Further up the back of the monster it seemed softer and on the back was a small child, riding the creature. It was held on by a harness and controlling the critter lightly with leads.
It moved down the road taking the light with it.
The sun rose slowly. The garden was big. I went to friends nearby and asked if they'd seen anything.
And I woke.
Oh well, just nice to be dreaming again!!
I sleep a great deal, probably 12 hrs in total per 24 - so half my time is asleep.
Noticed yesterday that I no longer dream. Dreams have been an essential part of my work practice all my life and they've stopped.
Which came first? No dreams, no work or is it that no work means no dreams?
Yo, I'm back...saw many friends and most of my family. ONE exhibition! That was all - Ithell Colquhoun who it seems had finally been acknowledged by the art world or what's left of it. Saw a couple of mates who had galleries in the day and to an extent still have; they are bewailing a lot.
I did it though! Could walk and function, not at speed or with force but happy to note that life isn't finished yet.
We have guests for the next couple of weeks but plan to start painting again afterwards. Wordy stuff less attractive.
Not doing a thing, squared!! Not painting, not attending conference. I should be in Manchester for Metaphorum but the Air Traffic Controllers strike put paid to that... next plane outta here is tomorrow and that goes to London, not Manchester.
Attending on line, accordingly. Flights reimbursed (-or will be, they say ) hotel costs down the funnel of lessons learnt. Insure. I didn't; can't recoup, though Ryan Air might pay some.
Missing the casual contact with cybernetics and the friends of my father.
Got a flight to London on Saturday, maybe some stuff salvageable.
And its my birthday, I'm 75. Does every old person feel incredibly surprised by their age? I'm not in denial, just baffled.
Not doing a thing - too hot. Hoping I'm working silently and subconsciously on whatever happens next; who knows?
Went into the mountains with Kat and Margaret and needless to say, did practically no work - but I did some Chinese ink drawing which seemed right for the sheer craggy mountains. Wrong paper. Too absorbent. Good fun though results useless.
Couple of hours painting yesterday, or more correctly, removing previous painting. I suppose this is how it works, can't remember.
One of my drugs in particular - prescribed, of course - if doubled up, makes a massive difference. I know this now because I took the bus to Carcassonne yesterday, walked about, came back and was fine. Slow but fine. It was Ascension Thursday, a bank holiday and the place was deserted. The few places open soon closed down. No traffic, no pollution, so hardly a test.
Today got taken in a car to the local lake. Prepared for the event by doubling the dose. Temps 32 degrees and I walked carrying lunch, a back pack and a carrier bag. Don't know how to measure the distance but it felt like miles- and I did it. Coming back, alas, another story. I'd further walked to the fishing lake to get some daphnia and that plus the return trip nearly killed me.
Yet still I linger :)
Hardly a work diary nowadays, though all this feels like work. Book still selling. Want to draw trees by the lake.
Went from a keep fit class of great if gentle horridness, to a party - where, despite increased drugs, had some sort of asthma event and had to leave. Training programme not going too well.
In view of failing lungs, have been experimenting with increasing my drugs so that I can function effectively.
On Tuesday took the bus on my own to Carcassonne and walked around for 2 hours as a training exercise. Slightly cheating, as the rain kept pollution down and smokers indoors, but managed quite well on only 2 extra Ventolin puffs.
Plan to do this weekly, upping the town each time.
Weird, the things you find out. I was demonstrating the joys of ai to a non-believer and asked Gemini to do my portrait in the style of Rembrandt. Nothing easier. But the machine couldn't find a photo of me!
Instead it did a lengthy biography from many sources concluding that a still should be taken from a video.
There are photos of me in a file somewhere, hard copies. Apart from fun with ai, can't really see the sense of bothering to scan them - and then realised, people used to photograph me all the time until I turned old. Pity. The old is far more interesting.
Memory: l was a disconsolate child, crying for some reason, in a restaurant of some sort. On a journey with the parents, probably to the coast to visit family. A waitress crouched beside me and showed me how to make a chalice out of silver paper -
making things has been my go-to ever since.
Painting dreadful indeed; been channelling my inner Chagall after reading Sufi stories. l have no genuine ownership of them and it shows.
Fretting over this and other issues, wandered around town and in the street library found Chagalls autobiography! in French of course with poorly reproduced black line drawings. Marvellous.
Second day of painting and very odd it is too. Had to clean up first and have no memories of the woman who left all this debris; don't recognise (hardly) anything. The only canvas around that was the right size had a crap painting on it so I primed, sized and generally disposed of it. Most liberating.
Painting is dreadful but it'll change.
The drawings were acceptable and so I've been carrying on - whilst plotting other drawings for myself (in the continuing series about old age and entropy.)
Book still selling but not so well.
Started research on next. Fascinating!! There are some authors who think JC was illiterate, can't imagine that that could have been possible... unless they mean, couldn't read or write. He certainly had the scriptures by heart. If he existed, of course.
Don't think I've been this lazy since I was a teenager.
Have sent half a dozen drawings to the maths book folk for a response. DO hope they're acceptable, don't want to have to redo.
I guess this is old age. All I want to do is sit around and read.
The Cybernetics Society want the members blogs to post on their site. I looked at this lot and realised, not for the first time, that this is where I come to grumble.
Does that count as feedback? Probably not, in that nothing is changed...
No work happening, unless you can count cooking. Guests, delightful, been here all week; go tomorrow . New one arrives tonight.
In the meantime, we are off to a castle in the mountains for lunch. I haven't got time to work (though started the new book - the schema, anyway)
drawing hard, lack insight and talent. Got a few that might work, will wait for a few more to arrive and try the authors for approval.
Got a couple of nice reviews for the book! The terror that l've been experiencing, the dread of being challenged, of being ridiculed, corrected, is fading. I really didn't expect to have that. |Is it normal among authors? Though very like exhibiting paintings, opening night horrors, so I dunno. Dread in general. The reviews really comforting.
The books out!! Blood sweat and algorithms. I put it up on face book where its selling surprisingly well - no idea who the market may be -
Don't know how to post it here but if you go to Amazon books and ask for Death: a Work in Progress by Vanilla Beer, it will emerge from the digital swarm.
It's done, it's done, it should be on line next week - amazed, astonished, that its been written. Been binning my notes and roughs and all that stuff and I've no idea how I did it - none - day in and day out - how??? Everything about it amazes me. I know I'm an obsessive and I remember feeling like this at the end of a difficult painting series but now I'm toying with the idea of possession.
Still, onwards... had the prepare the studio for drawing tomorrow.
Feb nearly gone and book still not available. Its being re-formatted, I believe.
I've been invited to do the drawings for a maths book! Nice job. With a beginning and an end, oh la.
Its finished done, all over, allelujia....
Gracie stepped in to help when I got baffled by Amazons easy self-publishing process. She and a friend are currently reformatting (?) I am planning a celebratory holiday, which I feel is deserved.
Editing is a joyless task.
Two chapters to go; then on to correct digitally. By which time no doubt some rewrites will be in order.
Grinding on... well over word count now, which means I can do some serious pruning of the padding. Dunno when. Today is Bobs birthday, there is a party here - next week is occupied but not radically so.
I keep telling myself that theres only so much you can say about death, then another book/idea/webpage turns up -
Real proper editing in earnest. I had thought was careful and punctilious; actually, I look slapdash. Got a week before Bob gets home and expect to be done by then.
It does feel like the tip of the iceberg. I could carry on longer. But people are dying and want to know what'll happen to them...
Editing getting easier, quite like what I've written. numbers up and down, as I cut and recall other stuff. Thinking of doing an extra chapter on immortality but too depressing - really, who want to live forever?
Much editing - damn thing turning into a pamphlet. I know size isn't everything but if it seems slight, erm... a mighty tome has more weight. OK enough banter and of course all the most useful and influential books are short... but having to hack out hard-won info grates on me. Just because its only peripherally interesting.
Probably time to do some housework and take a rest. Maybe print the thing out, if I can get some more ink.
-so I gallop on, nearly 60,000; made rather smug concluding remarks which will have to go. Lots has to go, really. I fluctuate between marking a thesis - in which case, rewrite - and thinking of readers who'll find it helpful. In which case, rewrite without quite the level of chat.
Bit late to muck about v. may as well get it right.
Over 50,000 and padding out some ideas - still scared of braving the Maturana/ de Chardin marriage I mean to conclude with (unless something changes, again)
Such good fun. So very much easier than painting.
Up to 45 thousand and ready to embrace the difficult biology bit, though not quite; editing and inserts to go. Much more comfortable with it as Jim (Prof R.J. Hankinson) cast his eye over it and apart from suggesting more Descartes and why not Nietzsche? was most helpful.
Mind you, he only saw the index. He will hate the tone.
