Sick and Sore Throat

8.29am (sat on the sofa in the front room)

I am not getting up today, I am exhausted and have a sore throat. I am not getting up today, Naoise is asleep and I am going to leave him to sleep as he was very sick last night.

He was sick over the mattress, the duvets, the blankets, my fleecy. His room still smells of sick. The smell will linger, The washing machine is still working its way through the disgusting soiled sheets.

So I leave Naoise to rest and to sleep. To sleep off his sick body.

Thankfully he wasn’t sick again in the night, I worried that my night shift would be long, but it wasn’t. He just asked that I cuddle him. Cuddling is easy, he is like a hot water bottle.

Best I have him home today. I do have to work, but he is sleeping. So whilst he sleeps I will chug through the preparation for the open studio, I can prepare the M(other) Stories extracts. I will select twelve posts, one from each month of ┬áthe project. A calendar. How to select? Not sure. Probably don’t need to think too hard, just need to do. There is always time to change my mind. There is plenty to choose from. Information overload is the biggest problem with this project. If only I had opted for one post a week, that would have been far easier. I don’t make things easy for myself, but then I think it is good to challenge, to question, to be critical.

In the proliferation of text and image being critical is hard………….editing is important. If you tidy things up its much easier to find what it is you are looking for. Preparation.

The news is full of ridiculous arguments for war. Bombing Syria will solve nothing. More blood will be spilt. How will bombing stop terrorism. I don’t understand the blind want for war.

The washing machine is reading its crescendo. Its the second time the duvets have been washed, they still stank of sick.

Syd is very happy as two of his primary school friends have moved just around the corner from our house. He now has company when he walks to school, and there is a constant too and throw of teenagers between the homes. I am so pleased for him.

Beep. beep, beep. Switch off the washing machine.

What will I do when I have completed this project? Will I miss the writing or will I feel freed from it. This project has been both blessing and monster. It has been cathartic but it has eaten up my drive to draw. I have over analysed life rather than just getting on with it. I have stared at this screen too much. I have valued pixels over paper. Pixels cost nothing. It is the physical world that I want return to. As much as this writing has been a saviour to my sanity it has taken me away from paint and pencils and the messy world of my studio.

I found the box of canvas. I can’t afford any supports for painting, but I think that I should stop thinking up excuses for not being able to paint. I need to draw and paint and print and stop analysing and being anxious. Maybe I still will write but perhaps I will set a more realistic goal, of writing once a week, or set no parameters at all, and just write when I have the inclination to do so. I need to remove the things that are stopping me from making. It is my mind that stops me, I need to move more with my body. I need to think less and just do.

Art is about doing. Art is about experimenting and trying it out and not knowing what might happen. Art is about having the confidence to play. Art is about responding to a visual world. Art is about challenging the status quo. Art is not about making objects. Art is not about making beauty. Art asks questions but does not necessarily answer them. Art engages all. Art is a universal language… it?



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