Blowy day, book & the red tennis ball
9.57 am ( at the desk in the studio)
I am here in the studio, its been a long old while. I am here. Picking up the pieces of my arts practice. I will draw today. I need to make a mark. I will make marks on blue house hold paint sample paper. I will make marks with oily indian ink. The flow of the line will please me. It is done. I have said I will do and I will.
The autumn sun is bright in the greying sky. A blowy day. The crows tumble around in the wind with the leaves. The children are like the wind, excited, upbeat, blowy.
The morning at home was much better, I didn’t shout, Naoise brushed his teeth, ate his breakfast at the table, did not revolt when I unwrapped him from this blanket womb. I think warm pan au chocolate definitely helped. Who wouldn’t want to wake to warm chocolate bread.
We just get to school on time. Today I delayed us, I couldn’t find my cash card. I had to return to the house to find it later. I am always loosing and finding this card. I am no good with keys and cards. I found it on the bookshelf outside Naoise bedroom, I remembered I had placed it there before bedtime. Before reading Moomins Midwinter. How I love Tove Jensons writing, so simple, succinct and beautiful. Her descriptions of winter make me want it, so they must be good for I dread its coming.
Naoise took a book with him to school today, he has a romantic notion that he will get to read it in the playground. He wants to read it before going into school, but there is no time for this. I usher him up the ramp on his scooter.
I talk to my friend on the way. I like these very brief conversations. She will spend the day making some coat hooks for her children from a broom handle. I will spend the day drawing in the studio. I don’t get around to telling her that. I like this woman and her family, they are very good at making and creating and being calm around their children, and clearly it works as the children are lovely and confident and huggy.
The blowy weather makes me want to dance, or walk or ride a bike. I am in the car. I will attempt a walk in the woods at some stage in the day. All this car riding so I can drop Syd off with his crutches is very boring and restrictive. I need to be out in the autumn. I need to cling to the tree leaves until they are gone. I need to see them fall. Kick them. Hold them. Rock them.
I remember an artwork by Mierle Laderman Ukeles Fall Time Variations: The trees are having their period: Time Slice, where the artist makes a large sanitary towel for an oak tree and carefully gathers up the fallen leaves. Andrea Liss writes about this piece of work in Feminist Art and The Maternal, Chapter 3.
After Naoise put his scooter behind the school with then other bikes and trikes he found a ball. A red tennis ball. He gave it to me to take home. I pushed it into my coat pocket. One red ball.
Syd was sweet to me this morning he had made a picture frame for me in resistant materials and he wants to put an image of him and me inside. For my birthday he posted up an image of him as a baby resting on the top of my knees. We were in Brighton on the pebbled beach. He looks so tiny and my body looks like a mountain. How different it is now. This morning he told me he wanted to grow a beard. Soon that option will be a possibility. A shadow of a moustache is revealing itself against his upper lip. My boy is becoming a man. He will be my mountain. he will cradle me.
And to drawing now before I become sucked in by this devils mirror.