Thursday Thoughts...

“Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.” 

Margaret Atwood

Water is very much on my mind again as we experience another deluge. 12 inches in 24 hours seems like more than enough, and still it continues.

In a way, it was helpful to be reminded in this quote of some of the nicer qualities of water. For many of us now it is a dreaded thing, the relentless nature of it, the power of it, and the impossibility of turning it back once it has begun to rampage.

So I take heart as I think about it quietly drip drip dripping away at a stone.

I take heart to think of it as flowing and not resisting.

I take heart to think of it as patient.

I take heart to think of it as a caress.

And I take heart as I consider how that can relate to me.

A much nicer view of water than the creek that has risen and is threatening once again.

A few favourites...

We are still sorting and sifting and settling here; altho I have attended three community events in two days so we must be sort of on track.

I thought I would just do a quick run past some of my favourite moments from our trip.  It won't be an exhaustive gallery, but these are some of the highlights that popped up as I glanced through my photos...

In no particular order.

From the bedroom, out through a misted window, this wee lamb was nestled with its mum. The lambs were absolutely a highlight for me this time - SO MANY!

The sky and the light stop me in my tracks often. This time around I looked more closely at the colours, as a palette I might use on return. I also looked at lines and found them everywhere.

Sunset around 9.30pm one night, out the bedroom window. The long evenings and twilight were wonderful. And there are some tiny fence line marks on the horizon. Lines.

Another evening sky out the bedroom window. The sky. 

Early morning on the way to the cove. Looking across the headland, so gentle and peaceful. Loving those lines.

The cottage with mum and the newborn lamb, the morning after its arrival.

One of my wee lochans from my poem/words. I love these wee lochans so much. And the sky.

The other wee lochan that shimmers as we drive by. With geese and the sea beyond. And gorse. The air was scented with its fabulous coconut scent.

We turned left and went down a single track road and came upon this. So many stories to be told, or made up.

An evening wander and more lines in the sky.

 

Did I mention the lambs???

This slowly crumbling cottage...

I may yet do more memory lane posts, but these are just a few of our special moments.

Small batches...

I have come to the notion that time at the cottage is a time of small making.

And perhaps as they say, from little things big things grow. I hope some things do grow from the small making I managed whilst away.

Having enjoyed our cove wanders and the marvellous rusty bits and pieces that we gleaned along the way, I suddenly remembered that I could use some of the pieces to rust-stain paper. I rushed into doing it with some very strong tea, and realised half way through I had probably forgotten how I used to do it, but went ahead anyway.

I tried a few different papers.

And quite a few different rusty bits.

And by the time I got to these postcards, I remembered I sometimes wet down the paper before dripping tea all over it, so gave that a try as well. Better late than never.

I knew I wouldn't be packing all that gorgeous rustiness to bring back, and I think that a few pieces of paper, made with their marks, is a nice way to bring there to here . A bit like taking the rubbings of the cottage's stone walls.

Along a very similar vein,  there was no way I could pack some of my very large stones with their double joined up markings, so I chose to do some abstractions of the lines in my notebook, to think about using in some other ways at some other time.

Small moments of making.

We arrived back in Maleny very early this morning and got to bed about 1.30am.  The day has been spent quietly pottering this way and that, unpacking, sorting, washing, writing lists of things to remember to do, and generally taking it gently.

Thursday Thoughts...

“If something burns your soul with purpose and desire, it’s your duty to be reduced to ashes by it.” 

Charles Bukowski

This appears to be a rather extreme description of how we need to do the stuff we need to do. I do understand the link between something burning my soul; and then being reduced to ashes, yet perhaps it could have linked ‘shines brightly within you’ with ‘stand in the spotlight with it’ or some such.

My sense is that he is really trying to get to that experience of having a burning passion for making or creating and that if you experiences this; then you should really submit to it, go with it, and work with it until you have nothing much left to give.

Follow it wherever it leads, use it to fuel your creating; be driven by it. If you feel really strongly or passionately about an issue; then throw yourself into it, give it your all and as they say in sport; leave nothing on the field/court or in the pool.

I am often inspired to make in response an issue or a set of circumstances that need a voice; that need to be amplified that need to be heard.  I share the feeling that when that happens, I should follow through and give it my heart and my hours. I can't just do a superficial thing and be done with it; I invest in it. I spend time getting my message and my making right.

I may not be reduced to ashes; but I have given it my all.

Words and wasps

 I was happy to be asked by a neighbour here if I could do some calligraphy for her in the front of a photo album that was being gifted to a special relative.

As ever, I wanted to check what sort of calligraphy might be preferred, especially as I don’t have any of my calligraphy tools with me! That meant that I would have to prepare the writing in pencil, and ‘colour it in’ so to speak.

The quick pencil sketches I did to show different styles - no lines, no rubbing out, really just indicative notions.

Testing out spacing and page alignment

Playing around with the letter ‘a’ and wondering whether or not to close off the bowl of the ‘e’ or draw a line and leave it open a small bit.

Centred and positioned on the page, I transferred my writing using lead pencil - very high tech! Because I had no broad edge nibs with me, I couldn’t write directly on the page with ink, hence the draw, transfer and colour in process.

And then to choose the colouring in pen.

And then to hand it over!

You can imagine I have now added broad edge nibs and pens to my packing list for next time.

The beauty of the natural world was well and truly on display with these fragile, beautifully formed paper wasp homes. They were hanging in our outside shed when we arrived, happily empty, but towards the end of our stay I cut them down to try and examine them better, and conserve/preserve them.

Magnificent.

Looking through to see the build up of layers

Looking deep inside to see the amazing structures.

The glory of it all…

Pottering and waiting

 It was a bit of a misery afternoon yesterday - beyond dreich - but I was able to stay warm inside and have a bit of a potter and a play.

I had brought a few watercolours with me and decided to do a sample chart, and then to test out mixing them to see if I could record any of the colours around me. That was the plan but it kind of went this way and that.

I started by making patterns for some book covers. 

I felt in my absolute comfort zone as I made small grey watercolour squares on paper. I wondered to myself “could there be anything more soothing?” as I went along.

The finished bunch of covers. I have been tweeking a few of them since.

I had brought this tiny set of study cards with me, thinking they might encourage me to jot down something each day. Ha! That they did not. I thought I might test some colour combos on them and as I went along, I started to simply make marks, thinking I might be able to do something on them. Better than white paper terror, I hoped.

My water ‘glass’ was a vase, and looked gorgeous. At one point it looked like a very fancy cocktail!

I then thought to instinctively respond to some of the marks, adding few lines or whatever came to mind. It was good to not think, just do.

A very productive and re-invigorating few hours were had. I do not know why I need to learn this over and over, but I do. 

Making fills me up. Spending time with artistic play soothes me, calms me and energises me. I know this, and I should pay far more regard to it than I do at times when I get busy and distracted.

Today as we waited whilst my Dad was at church, we simply sat and watched a field of lambs and their mums. It too was calming and just so lovely to be able to observe them, without making them skittery. We were in the car and they didn’t really know we were there. Lots of fun, and this wee one was gorgeous.

And not a bad view to bide the time in…

Throughout the time however our quiet was interrupted by thrumming and tapping and rat a tat tatting.

In the rear view mirror I spotted who was doing what. This pied wagtail was completely besotted with itself we think, or else really wanted to have a go at shiny black cars!

And this!

Too funny.

Thursday Thoughts...

“My grandparents were illiterate and I never expected to stand here before you in a grand hall in London as a writer being so honoured. Perhaps in consequence I do not share the pessimism of the age about the novel, [which is] one of our greatest spiritual aesthetic and intellectual traditions.” 

Richard Flanagan

Richard Flanagan is an Australian author and won the Booker Prize in 2014 with his novel The Narrow Road to The Deep North, a story about prisoners of war in Thailand during the Second World War; based on his own father's story.

I oftentimes think of him as Australia's conscience. He writes articles for newspapers; he writes essays for monthly publications; he writes books about our dark underside.  He so often writes with a deep understanding of our country; but with an objectivity that allows us to be turned around, to look at ourselves, our true nature and our true stories. 

This quote is part of his acceptance speech for the Booker. I love how it shows how education changes things. How learning to read and write and engage with the world opens up so many opportunities.  I love how he also honours the novel - the storytelling; the narrative; the imaginings of the novel.  

I think novels can be transformative - if you read the right one at the right time, they can change you.