Deep thought, deep breath

One of the reasons I love meditation is that it feels like the equivalent of a long, cold glass of water on a parched throat. Sadly, the rigours of business-starting and the daily round of feeding, cleaning, moving and collapsing have left me lacking the crucial time and peace to just sit. Small cats and their wicked ways are not helpful either; I am yet to find a satisfactory time of day and place to access the peace I am craving.

Good to be craving peace I suppose; I have once more given up smoking, having started again in a cliched fashion while getting the business going. My life can now be conveniently portioned by periods of smoking, non smoking; drinking, non drinking... oh yes, there is a pattern emerging!

To that I should also add - meditating, not meditating; scone-eating, not scone-eating....

Hand in hand with my need to find space is my desire to wallow in nature. Sometimes I think on whether my urge to curl up in hedges and lie in fields is evidence of a past life as... something in a time when we were closer to the actual world, less cosseted and removed.

Actually I think this is a desire we all share to a greater or lesser degree; the draw to escape from the constructed and confining into a more simple and accessible form of life. I would spend many more days outside in a tent if the conditions prevailed (living in a wilder place with some land... tent on slabs in suburbia just not the same); waking to the birdsong and damp of the grass in the doorway. I am still thinking about the lovely couple of days I had two years ago in Somerset when I went to hang a show down there; two days alone in a tent (beautiful weather, mackerel skies and long-tailed tits) eating dinner on a log on the beach. Bliss.

Muddy hands, sandy feet, rain falling gently in a forest, lying on a cushion of leaves and needles, listening to nothing but my own breath and the muffled rustling sounds of the little lives around me.

Reading the last post before my long pause where I mentioned the album title 'Stumble into Grace'. I am one of those people who constantly write and revise a soundtrack to my humble existence, editing in my head and occasionally creating a disc of the songs that move and inspire me at any given time. Going back to them is a little like reliving the times on a wee home movie in my head.

Song of this week, one in which I have had more than my fair share of 'have I done the right thing?' moments (whilst accepting that it is impossible to ever know..) is by the very lovely Tift Merritt, who I have seen perform live twice in Edinburgh's Queens Hall. The fact that I blubbed at both gigs tells you that her songs are some of those that seem to speak directly to me in a way that songs do. One of the reasons I love music so much is that elusive but awesome moment when exactly the right track appears just when you need it - for inspiration, reassurance or to match the exuberance that is bubbling up inside. 'Engine to turn', my current soundtrack fave, is echoing in my ears...

'Sometimes there's a choir in my head

Singing at the top of their voice -

They're singing

"Don't - look - back

Don't - be - scared!"

Ahhh, see now you understand.... Also still listening to John Grant's 'Queen of Denmark', one of those albums that seems to attach itself to me like a clingy child and demand playing constantly; maybe not everyone will be moved by it as I am, but I can listen again and again....

Always being one to look for portents and signs, I am pleased to report the first flowering of my Wysteria; one of the plants I have always coveted in the gardens of people who have beautiful gardens. Mine is a white version, rather than the more usual purpley violet, and it nearly died the year we abandoned it and ran off to Arran to sell fish for a summer season. Rewarded this spring for my nurturing over the last two winters with the most optimistic and romantic of flowers; hoping to see a full cascade over time.

Thinking of Montmartre again in terms of a new painting; thinking elephants too, so we will see where this one leads. I am taking on too much as usual; still got miles to go on the 'big wall' at Bon Papillon, which I am muralling in a (hopefully) fairly quiet, neutrally shaded Parisian cafe scene. Still, I wouldn't be me if I wasn't already letting my mind wander into fresh avenues.... must mean I am starting to relax again at last.

Long pause, new beginnings

We have taken the plunge and opened our business, hence the long pause in postings on Bateau-Lavoir days...

hate to mention the words 'dream' and 'rollercoaster' but both apply in their somewhat over-used way. Some days I am in a 'pinch myself or I won't believe it' mode, others I am still wallowing in self doubt and wondering if I have made the first step on a road to disaster. Luckily I am usually in the former frame of mind. After a year of writing something that was swerving dangerously close to a kind of confessional/therapy I am still stunned that we managed to achieve all that we have so far. I am genuinely amazed at how the premises shaped up in just over a month from an empty shell with a whole range of attached problems and hurdles to a fully functioning gallery and cafe that is a joy to work in.

Now I have taken the plunge and re-visited this blog I will continue to update both here and on our new blog/website at www.bonpapillon.com

It is the last day of our first week of trading and I am utterly exhausted, looking forward to a long sleep and a bit of taking stock of all that has happened so quickly. Then onwards and upwards; it's the only path available as far as I can see... no room for doubt and no time to fit it in anyway!

One small stumble

The word that keeps appearing in my mind tonight is 'monumental', which is melodramatic in the extreme but sums up neatly how I feel. Worked my last 'monumental', longest-day-ever shift at the cashdayjob and find myself suddenly self employed at the helm of a new, yet to be trading company. The whole world laid out before me so to speak.

Emmylou Harris' album title 'Stumble into Grace' also popped into my head, as more than anything I feel that I am stumbling into the future, but in a good way. The only way we can move forward is by taking little steps in a direction which can be described as 'unknown', as all the days to come are yet to reveal their little ways and secrets. All the talk of following dreams and making your own future come down to a few decisions and steps; the rest is stumbling on.. blundering ahead regardless of the pitfalls and worries. It is a good and terrifying feeling but I am very glad that I am on the path and moving forward bit by bit.

For now it is writing lists and chipping away at the many things that need to be done without concentrating too much on the big scary picture; I have learnt so far that this is the best way to progress, and before you know it hurdles have been overcome and decisions taken that will shape the rest of the process.

The wee cherry is flowering in the dark and I drove home in the most amazing sunset that burned the whole horizon with such intensity, the rest of the sky a gunmetal grey. Flowers in the dark, fire in the sky, a path yet to be revealed. We shall see what the morning brings.

A day in reverse

One of the strangest shift combinations we have yet achieved, and we saved it for our last week; Stu on a backshift, 4pm - finish and me on an early newspaper shift, 7am - 11am. So that was me up, breakfasted, walk through sleepy Morningside, worked my wee four hour shift and back home to Stu freshly breakfasted and doing the washing. Then we had a bit of a day before he was off for his 'few hours in hell' as so eloquently put. Then I went back to bed.
Woke again early evening with that totally disoriented feeling, guilt playing in the back of my mind which is probably just auto-pilot from when I regularly slept away portions of the day because I was in a bad place. One of the great things about that happening is the slow dawning that this is a weird time to be waking, but no sinister overtones are at play and no-one else is any the wiser anyway; still plenty of time to sort out paperwork and do some painting before our regulation midnight feast. I am sure it should be bad for me to eat in the early hours of the morning; certainly pretty much every celeb. diet tells me so, but it never seems to do me any harm. Maybe my metabolism will be confused when I switch to 'normal' eating patterns?

Finished my 'playlist' for the gallery/cafe; using 72 of our finest albums suited to the purpose of creating ambiance with some interest. Now I shall listen to it on random for the next few days to iron out any glaring mistakes; there are bound to be at least a couple of tracks that just don't go or contain a random audible swear word or two; I used to find it funny when it was someone else's restaurant but in truly hypocritical fashion I feel I should be careful with my own. Managed a blinder the other week while in the gallery talking to a customer, ipod playing happily to itself, when a sneaky 'fucking' popped out twice in a track which I was sure was perfectly innocent. OOps. Now to sort my head out again, figure out what time of day it is and get on with the appropriate behaviour...
The pic is one of my mum's sketches; she does some lovely wee drawings.

Places in mind and space

Feels kind of weird at cashdayjob this final week; like I am in limbo marking time until I can get on with the great big new project... time passes fast though and I will surely miss some aspects of the experience, some people etc.

Thinking about going to Amsterdam next week and all the memories that come back when I start dwelling on travel. One of my favourite things in the world is to find myself on the first day in a new city somewhere in the world, map in hand and camera at the ready, just waiting to see what is out there. We have walked for miles and miles in cities we have visited, stubbornly shunning the local transport to foot the streets in search of new experiences. It would be extremely hard to put my finger on the favourites from over the years but a place I always think back on as pure magic is the walled city of Dubrovik. We were lucky enough to stay within the walls for two weeks; our tiny apartment like a lighthouse built up one room above the other, the house opposite so close you could nearly touch fingers. The sun shone every day and every morning we rose up the stairs to the terrace where the whole amazing terracotta roof city spread out below us. Seagulls flying over had terracotta tummies from the reflected light; huge gangs of swifts hurtled by screaming and twisting in the air; the light burned the stone surfaces and toasted bare feet in seconds. Every stone and tiny alley of the place spoke silently of history; some heroic, some tragic, always monumental and proud; certainly for me the most amazing mass of buildings I have ever had the thrill of seeing. Reminds me of the line in 'Gladiator'; 'I didn't know man could build such things.'

My Amsterdam will be different and unique, which is why I love trips like this; it can join Paris, Milan, Bangkok and New York; Florence and Saigon, St Petersburg and Hong Kong. Dreaming cities of history and discovery full of lives and stories; often full of paintings and angels.

I am truly glad to have the privilege to travel to places and fill my head with the amazing images and narratives that come from them.

A day in the life of...

Had the weirdest, most surreal day today which should have been intensely enjoyable but was just kind of... strange. I imagine this is how someone with an independant income, rich or famous person or similar, may pass their time; although I'm pretty sure they would skip the £3 day bus ticket and spend far less time agonising about everything.

First up, went to the hairdresser after a four month gap and literally days of agonising over the unneccessary spendage involved when I could really just leave it alone and not care. Problem is, I do care and attach importance to looking presentable and not mad as much as humanly possible; my nature often calls me to the dark side and I feel resistance should be attempted until I am at least sixty. The hair tidying process took over two hours, horifically, in which time I managed two magazines, two cups of tea and much pain over the eventual cost. At the end of the day it was worth it however; I feel positively spring-stepped for the lost weight of untended hair and am positive I look years younger thanks to the lightening process. Result..

Then to the shopping bit, in which I had to throw away all of my learnt inhibitions and actually splash out on a few items of necessity (Body Shop things as I had a voucher to use up that gave me discount so it had to be worth it...) some things of non-necessity (shoes and make-up) and some business things (upholstery fabrics). Also stopped by the Bureau de Change to obtain some Euros for Amsterdam next week; still haven't even vaguely got my head around the idea that we are about to go on holiday, give up work and start a business, but I'm sure I will soon...

Now comes the creative accounting. I was going to get £250 in Euros, but I had spent £30 on shoes (bargain!!) so decided to limit myself to £200, thus making an actual saving of £20. Beat that; holiday money and shoes with a saving to boot. Not sure how Stu will view these figures however, I will just have to blind him with sums and new goods until he forgets the bit about shoes.

All of this primping, travelling and shopping took up most of the day - and I did't even stop for a coffee, or lunch, or even a sandwich. In fact I was so hungry from surviving on tea and adrenalin when I got home that I had to raid the Digestive biscuits that had been sustaining me in my gallery sitting all week. Healthy stuff this celebrity lifestyle, no wonder they all go off the rails.

The painting at the top is the one I finished yesterday after a full on painting marathon at the gallery over the weekend; this has so many ideas all jostling in it, some of which I hope to move onto paintings of their own. The events in Japan were merging in my mind with a general feeling of sadness at the ease with which 'things' are swept away in both directions; man's disregard of nature and ease with its destruction and nature's awesome might sweeping aside humanity with a shrug. Retaliation? A restless earth? 'The Planters' are involved in the creation of the 'Joy Garden'; my eutopian fantasy Eden creation where all the hippy happy ideals of lions and lambs lying together are realised. In planting, however, they are aware of the futility of their task and the likelihood of their creation being destroyed either by the power of nature itself or by the hands of man. It has something to do with the Canute-ism of my cherry tree roof and something to do with the frailty of life...

The garden roof

One of those days where I had the liberty to be on my own painting for quite a few hours and made many discoveries, had many thoughts and generally allowed my mind to wander as it will. Can I remember anything? Not a chance... maybe I relaxed a little more than I realised. Finally shaken the cold I have been nursing all week and grateful to be liberated from the tissue box and the painkillers; you begin to forget what normality feels like, making it all the sweeter on its return. As I have also quit my month-long smoking habit, the recovery from clogged-lung hell is particularly welcome; hoping my resolve sticks and we don't get any more setbacks to send my relapsing. I find it way too easy to slip into things and know only too well how hard it can be to climb back out again.. not something I wish to repeat on a regular basis.

Working on a big canvas these last three days and to be honest, quite amazed at how long painting takes when I am doing nothing else; I am used to squeezing in a few hours here and there and so usually have no idea how long the process takes. Quite interesting seeing the whole thing in sequence and I think it is speeding the process and smoothing out the edges a little. I often take a wee while to ease my way back into a painting and find my way back to the thought processes and decision-making that are left behind at the close of each session; this way it is far easier to see a 'path' and follow it. Makes no difference to my habit of starting with one thing in mind and ending up with another, but the coherance of the idea seems to have translated better. I am still correcting the mouth of the first figure; had a major, major drawing crisis yesterday and couldn't get the line right for love nor money. This morning it went quite easily but looking tonight I am still not one hundred percent sure about it; one more tweak tomorrow and I will (hopefully) be at peace with it. Happy happy with the colours I have been using and convinced that this is a result of the process being more 'flowing' and continuous; it just seems easier to keep in mind the ideas I have as I go along without having a week's break in between two areas of paint. As I start my final stretch in the cashdayjob on Tuesday with a cheeky wee four day week I am hopeful that painting in this way may soon be something I get to do on a regular basis. I am absolutely determined to keep the work/life balance, or work/paint balance on an acceptable keel; I have had far too long putting everything else before it and now it is going to be a priority, not an afterthought once everything else is completed.

Final day of my wee week at Ritchie's tomorrow and hope to blast through the end of this painting; saved the second figure till last as I am looking forward to it.

Points of Perception

Slightly frustrating day in painting world; at least the cold has started to loosen its grip on my sinuses, but spent large portions of the day in repainting mode - it goes something like this... Start new painting with great exuberance and enthusiasm; try out a few new techniques, splash out on some big brush strokes and gain confidence in what will surely be the big masterpiece. Notice that the face that you have lovingly and exuberantly painted over the last two hours is a little wonky. Not very wonky, but enough to need attention; never fear, the work of a moment...

Two hours later, still tweaking.. lost all ability to see or draw straight (or indeed curved). Face now looks wrong whatever I do and now the rest of the picture is losing its rose-tinted hue and coming back down to earth. Start of dark mood as realise that this is not a miraculous masterpiece and will be as hard won as the rest of them; vow to leave face alone before paint is an inch thick.

Three hours in and still tweaking.. checking face in mirror produces evidence of more anomalies and skewed drawing. Worse, idly checking other completed paintings in mirror reveals similar evidence of wonky faces and bad drawing; consider throwing in the towel. Have cup of tea. Face starting to look slightly more acceptable and mood lifting as new wave of euphoria creeps in - new painting is the miraculous masterpiece after all! Gaze fondly as tea is consumed.

Final step tomorrow - return to discover which, if any opinion is the correct one and how the face looks after a nights reflection. My guess is somewhere in between 'perfect' and 'hopeless'.

This, I hasten to add, is pretty much the creation process for all paintings apart from smaller ones that are finished while still in the delusional 'masterpiece' stage. These are even more annoying as the illusion is shattered wholesale the next day when the cold light of hindsight reveals all the flaws in their glory 'in a oner'.

Let us see how the daylight reveals my new work of genius tomorrow...

Not counting chickens

Struggling with the first really nasty cold of the season and contemplating how I deserved it. Slipped all to easily into smoking sly fags in the garden over these stressful weeks and quickly graduated to not-so-sly ones at all times of the day or night, justified to myself and anyone else who cared to listen by the excuse as above. Once this cold started to kick in and my lungs tried to eject my body it was time at last to see reason and resort to the cup of tea solution that has never let me down. Annoyed with myself all week as the germs took hold in my weakened chest and mildly fascinated at how quick the process was; no colds all winter until this and now I am struggling with sleep, headachy and lousy generally. That coupled with the ever more horrific stories and pictures coming from Japan have curbed my enthusiasm for anything this week.

Stu apologised for being less than upbeat about the premises we are still going for and I laughed; after our first experience of losing out to another interest at a time when we were thought we were confidently romping up to the finish line I am not about to start counting chickens.

While all appears to be progressing as it should I will not be letting up my worrying until we are sitting on the shop floor with a key in our hands making lists. Until then it is time to work on some painting, try to breathe and try not to dwell too long on the horrible things happening half way around the world tonight.

Completed my optimistic piece - 'The Birds of Fortuity' at a time when they seem to have deserted the earth; I guess there is always space for optimism, however feeble.

Building a small fortress

I start with an apology to all of you out there with little patience for the felines in our lives; bear with me though, this one's for you too..

Twig the kit has reached the charming age of two, or in cat years, her teens. Never have I so realised the wisdom of the x7 calculation of cat years until this crucial milestone. Twig thinks that however long we sleep is far...too...long. Wake up calls arrive at anywhere between four and six a.m. and take the form of pulling cables on the electric and telecommunications equipment next to my bed; modems are unplugged, phone scooted across the floor and electrical knobs and arials chewed and (for want of a better word) 'boinged' with little claws. After this morning's particularly psychotic awakening at 4am, I set out to Twig-proof the telecommunications corner in whatever way I could.

Enter IKEA. Lets face it, with my name it would be rude not to shop there, and I entered with high hopes and optimism that a solution lay within. Eureka - purchased a small but sturdy two-drawer unit with the potential for further customisation to accommodate wires through the back and set about the task of assembly and installation. This is a hazard in itself of course; all tools are to be kept under my legs as I kneel, all small items in their plastic bag shoved in the waistband of my jeans to avoid ingestion by cat. Luckily the furniture comes with free cat toy in the shape of packaging, so while the two furries busied themselves 'sledging' around the living room in the box and leaping on each other, I hammered, sawed and wood glued (minor sawing error) my way to a good nights sleep. Installed in the bedroom we now have a modem and phone drawer containing wires, cables and equipment, with the added bonus of book and glasses drawer to prevent the use of these as wake up noise-makers too.

I hasten to add that I am a realist and will no doubt wake to a new and wonderous percussion from whatever else she has discovered will make a noise - or failing that her voice - but at least the constant threat of missed calls and disconnected modems is past. Cat Lovers, I hope you are impressed with my inventive solution to common feline problems; Cat Intolerants can shake their heads in disbelief and further fortify their list of reasons why not to live with one.

This aside, I managed to rescue a painting I have been staring at for days knowing that the only way out was a radical reworking, received an invite to show pics at a charity event and met up with a friend I lost touch with about seven years ago. Turns out she lives four doors away from the gallery where I paint on Sundays.

The painting is called 'The birds of fortuity' after a Kundera quote likening the arrival of chance fortune and good luck - 'blessings' if you will - to birds settling on the shoulders of St Francis of Assisi. I have had plenty downs as well as ups this last year, but I couldn't help but reflect on the quote at the moment when so many chance happenings and meetings have come to pass.

Or maybe we just notice them more when they appear in flocks?

Building a small roof

Without doubt one of the most positive discoveries of the year to date has been that there are an awful lot of people out there who wish you well despite not really knowing you, that will try to help although it will have no direct benefit to them and put in a kind word or action out of the blue.We are still riding the big dipper of emotions on a daily basis and trying hard not to project to a rosy future where all is easy and secure, as this leaves us vulnerable to the sudden disappointments that still keep cropping up. There have been some wonderful lucky breaks and serendipity and one cannot help but think along the lines of fate; how a loss has lead to a gain in another area and an unpromising path has ended not at a precipice but in a green wooded copse.

The learning curve has also been steep and my 'reading ahead' of the process has lead me to discover all kinds of information irrelevant in the present that may well be my saviour in future unexpected moments of need.

This morning the snow has come back in timely fashion; just when I was going to head out on a list of unwelcome chores, I am thinking that a quiet day painting and playing with my new software will be a far more soul-boosting and productive exercise in the long run. Sitting in the garden at 7am pondering the above and making a small roof for my baby cherry tree out of sticks and a jiffy bag I am feeling strangely calm and optimistic once more.

A roof for a cherry tree; a foolhardy creation on the lines of Canute trying to hold back the sea, but born of compassion and a hope for the preservation of beauty against the forces that may destroy it. A couple of years ago the council chopped down two wonderful mature cherries on the burnside out the back of my house to make way for... nothing, it transpired. They were in the way of the machines that were sent to concrete over portions of the stream banks in the name of flood control; another 'Canute-ism' if ever there was one. Ever since, the cherry has been a bit of a totem to me; a symbol for the things of beauty that are so casually erased on a daily basis in the name of advancement or self interest. We miss the clouds of petals in April and feel for the birds who now roost in spindly, unsuitable ash saplings or on lamp posts.

Displaced pigeons mourn

Loss of blossom on spring breeze:

No fruit will follow.

Squalls and Ambitions realised

Spent a very squally Edinburgh day in pleasant, if cold and wet style, visiting galleries and continuing the vast task of learning how to set up and run a business. I remember my mother, a teacher, telling me how it was often a case of reading one step ahead of the kids, and that is very much my experience with the company formation. It is hard not to see the whole great picture, get scared and hide under a rock; better to focus on each detail at a time and try to 'read ahead' of the tasks required.

Speaking of pictures, had a positive experience amid the hailstorms on Dundas Street, visiting the Braewell Gallery to view the Peter Howson and Joe O'Brien show, alongside two Ingrid Nilssons hanging in the back room. Strange when ambition becomes reality; I had always nurtured the ambition of having my paintings hang in a gallery on Dundas Street, which I used to mispronounce when I first arrived in the city and which seemed to be the centre of the art hanging universe. It still is, essentially, so to have two of my pictures up there is pretty meaningful for me; the fact is however, that the reality is less of a pinnacle and more of a prod on to potentially greater things and achievements. Never do to rest on one's laurels, no matter how comfy they may be. Please note the Howson in the background of the picture; to share wallspace with someone of his calibre is a true honour. Also a couple of great pieces by Vicky Mount, who I have discovered in the last year and respect a great deal.

We also took in a couple of shows at the Scottish Gallery: Geoff Uglow's moody and moveable semi-abstract portaits of Barra and the very different but awesome Steven Appleby's 'Islands'. Great contrast of shows; upstairs the vast acreage of fluid colours (eye-pop yellow, washed out ochres and greys, biting cobalt turquoise) and down below the chuckeworthy and beautifully penned works of someone who I have always admired for his singular vision of the world and its domestic details.

As darkness descends it is wonderful to have some company for a change; it has been a lonely few weeks and I have often felt the weight of too many decisions and little shared support. No-one's fault, but it reminds me that we will soon be in the stronger position of acting as a team again. Stu is reading a book on Amsterdam, which we visit in a couple of weeks for a very, very well earned rest. Roll on Rijksmuseum!

Chasing angels

Feeling the cautious stirrings of optimism and thinking about luck quite a lot. Its a cliche I'm sure, but it is certainly true to a degree that you make your own. I mean, not like bumping into an old friend unexpectedly in Moscow or winning the school raffle, but what is often mistakenly referred to as luck. Luck in achieving things, creating opportunities and making contacts. Trying to remember bits from a cheesy self-help book called 'The Luck Factor' that I read years ago; in fact to call it cheesy is a dis-service as it talks much sense and spurred me on at the time to go out and 'make' luck. I especially remember its insistence on going out and contacting, mingling, meeting; maximising the chance of luck 'finding you'.

It is easy to sit back and wonder why things pass you by; the answer is often that you have to go and find them. Birdwatchers would do badly if they sat in the living room all day, and mountaineers would never have the 'lucky' glorious days of climbing if they never got to base camp. In painting, I know that my best work and best ideas come not from staring at the ceiling but gettting out and seeing things, looking, learning, being receptive to the details and colours that live not in my house, but in the big wide world out there.

Feeling pleased at feeling tired; proud to have pushed the pockets of time I have had to find things out, write things down; contact, explore, delve, rummage. Now I need a sleep.

Plans and dreams

Another day, another change of mood; wild swings have become the norm. Having reached a real low yesterday, I was cheered to find that our solicitor is equally unimpressed by the human nature displayed by the landlord of the last property. Putting this down to experience seemed suitable, so we renewed our efforts and went to see another property this morning, which once again managed to get me excited in our prospects. Very keen again and hoping that we will not be so unlucky twice. Once again frustrated by the weekday schedule of all the people I need to deal with though; after this many years in catering I just cannot see the weekend as a 'no work' area. Spending the evening, and no doubt much of the weekend researching what I can on planning permission, change of use, anything that might help me when it comes to negociations.

Knowledge is power. Still pinching myself about the new gallery taking my work as well, which is another reason for boundless optimism tonight; the paintings were posted by the gallery on FB to a round of positive comments from friends and strangers alike. Music to an artist's ears.

Into the trough

A dark day, although not without comedy. Business plan a) has stalled as the property we have been basing our plans on has been somewhat cruelly given to the newcomers, who had initially retracted their interest. I have been worried all along that things were just too easy so far, so here it is; the first lesson of business. What the lesson is, I am not entirely sure, except speed is of the essence and no trust can be made in human nature to do the 'right' thing.

Dealing with lawyers, we have no idea who the landlord is and why he made the decision he did, so speculation is pointless and destructive, as are the initial feelings of ill towards him/her that I had to sit with for a few long hours this evening.

Being a practical creature, I was out in the car trawling the streets to refresh my memory of all the other potential properties we had seen; taking numbers, looking up on the internet and poring over spreadsheets to compare the money side of things. It is easy to rattle off the platitudes and talk of fate; I am sad that the mental images I had been spinning and the sketch plans we have been scribbling are now the stuff of history. Now to spin some new pictures and start to imagine an amended future vision; time is still on our side and nothing else has changed in a negative way. Same plan, different location. Hindsight may let us know one day that the right decision was made for us, or we may never know.

I dislike the analogy of life as a roller coaster, but it does seem rather apt just now.

Yellow the colour

Found myself standing in a gallery today with two of my paintings resting up on the wall under some amazing Peter Howson's. Reminded me of one of my favourite anecdotes about Picasso (how true, who knows) in which he sneaked a couple of pictures into a gallery ahead of an invite to exhibit there to see if they 'stood up' to the other works. I suppose I love the idea of him having the same frailties as the rest of us and doubting the genius that everyone else spoke of. Pretty sure he was pleased with what he saw.

What was amazing today was that, notwithstanding the fact that mine were two of my favourite pieces to date, I did not have the feeling of inadequacy that I would have expected. Indeed, I felt pretty confident that what was leaning on the wall was actually a couple of pieces of work that I was proud to have created; I felt they would fit in. Luckily so did the gallery owner and so another little milestone passed before my eyes; alas I couldn't share it with anyone else and the impact it had on me will not translate to many.

Talked about colour and threw about the usual comparisons with other artists work, all of which it has to be said was extremely flattering and gave me a renewed eagerness to carry on the path I am walking. Straight to Greyfriars art shop and away humming in the spring sun on Cumberland street with a wad of canvas rolled under my arm. It is interesting looking back on the work of the past year to note other little milestones in my work, one of which takes place only a couple of months ago when I finally threw away one of my own misjudged constraints and started working on canvas instead of board; it seems to have liberated something in my work that has given it a new depth of colour, tone, vigour. Suggests to me very clearly that I must continue to experiment more with my media as it is so easy to become stuck in a groove and miss out on new ways of working and expressing.

Colour is back to the forefront of my mind yet again; I think there is still so much more I could do with it, and want to push into uncharted territory and get into some serious yellow. I keep wanting to use it and pulling back from it or overpainting what I do use, but now the spring is here I seem to see it everywhere, and in my minds eye. Mustard, Turners, Naples, Cadmium, Lemon... I shall see how many I can squeeze on this new canvas.

Sun and butter; the

Colour of optimism

Just must be yellow

Lost in lists

The small and insignificant story of my life to date could probably be an interesting read if compiled in the lists I write in an attempt to bring structure to it. If for some anal reason I had filed them all and not lost them or tossed them once they had passed their useful point it would be a unique historical record of a neurotic list-monger. The one I just sent to the bucket consisted of a few tasks carried out satisfactorily, a few 'notes to self' that probably prompted some action and a number of mystery items that I meant heartily at the time of writing, but whose significance or importance faded with the passage of time.

The list for the week coming includes useful occupations for passing time and ticking off tasks of moderate use for the future months, while keeping my mind focused away from the growing pile of concerns in the recesses of my mind... Compiling a new playlist for the gallery on my ipod with the vastly expanded music collection from the last time I had to perform the same task for a restaurant a few years ago; a programme mum recommended on Australian art recorded on iplayer, paintings to use in signage for the gallery (detail-monger), visits to galleries and contacts lists to assemble. Worries slightly magnified today by the knowledge that the property now has two interested parties and a larger raft of outcomes than a week ago, not all positive. Also my business bank manager has read my business plan (flattering comments: good) and made a proposal of it to send to the 'money men' in Leeds. Oh goody, another cliff-hanger to wait on.

Should be taking it on the chin by now, but I am not the best at suspense and will have to use my lists to their full advantage to occupy myself gainfully while the wheels of fate grind on.

Of course the best line of defence is... attack. Time to send those emails out to galleries, push my own profile art-wise and reach out to those who may help me. And keep an eye to my karma.

Long painty Sunday

What should have been a pleasant days painting on another glorious day was marred ever so slightly by the continued worries on loop in my head.. Not knowing if we will have to start all over again looking for a property when we have already written a business plan around this one, which is as I speak sitting on the desk (or computer) of my business bank manager. When we have handed in notice from our jobs and booked a weekend break, organised a man to sand the floor... Repeating one of my favourite and overused mantras helps but slightly - 'this too shall pass.'

Aside from this, and the fact that I am feeling queasy from smoking three cigarettes today after a ten year period of blissful abstinance, a very productive day. Used to having fans of Ritchie's work visiting the gallery (well it is his gallery) it is pleasant to find that people are returning to view mine. A couple who visited yesterday came again today with friends with the sole reason of showing them my paintings and were very pleased to meet me and find me painting away in the back shop. Strange feeling, but appreciated. The painting took off on its own today after a bit of a false start when a pal of Ritchie's appeared and chatted about painting for ages; interesting but a bit rambling and it stopped me hitting my stride until an hour had passed. Can't complain as I made up for it, and the image above is now out of date by a few hours as I continued back home.

Even managed to handle the visit of some local kids out to provoke me better than normal, by the simple use of silence and one of my mother's 'old fashioned' looks. Works best when peering over glasses; never guess she was a teacher... plenty tricks up those sleeves.

Having consciously gone through a phase of limited colour I have found myself letting go with all the tubes in the box in the last two pieces I have done - imminent spring feeling perhaps? I think the limitation did some good though as I am a little more thoughtful about where and why I am putting colours, and much more aware of tones. This has always tripped me up a little and I often find I have completed an entire painting in a myriad of colour, but only one tone.

These new ones are destined for the new venture, which I dare not think about tonight as it will set me off on crazy doom scenarios again. Monday dawns none too quickly.

I must go down to the sea again..

Unpromising weekend comes good. Yesterday I was mired in stress again with worries piling up relating to the business and procurement of premises in which to operate. Woke determined not to waste a whole three days free with useless 'what ifs' and so, in truly mature fashion, went out into the early morning sun and smoked a cigarette. I gave up eleven years ago... Weird thing is, it set me off on a good foot and the sun followed my mood shortly after. Nothing, repeat nothing, lifts the soul on a gloomy, pessimistic day as well as walking by the sea; I turned my car north eastwards and headed for North Berwick by way of Aberlady.

It helped that the weather was laughably kind to me; the sea was so flat calm that when a wavelet did break I turned around to see what the noise was; everyone was smiling, children were frolicking in rock pools and dogs running, running gleefully. Sat gazing into the water and quite forgot my previous torturous dilemmas regarding property; somehow it just melts away.

Found some more excellent craft makers in the Green and Blues gallery who I hope to secure for exhibtion in our new place; a great glass artist from Skye and a ceramic modeller originally from Finland - ah.. the Scandinavians, I do love them.

Wandered back via a small but very interesting show at the Birdwatching centre in Aberlady; Keith Brockie, Darren Woodhead, John Threlfal and John Busby, who are all outstanding wildlife artists. The show was from a joint trip to India and had some amazing sketches in rough thick pencil and pastel of rollers, bee-eaters and monkeys. Great to see such chunky media used in wildlife work, when the tendency is often to picky detail; these guys can really draw though and it is always a pleasure to admire the quickly and perfectly captured line.

Started a bit of a pet project tonight; 'The birds of fortuity', named after a favourite quote and character in Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which is a bit of a favourite read.. We are in the realm of autobiography once more, as the quote revolves around the birds (0f fortuity) fluttering down onto the shoulders of the character; a reference I have always related to when things seem to go uncannily well for no reason. It's also referring to (a) love, so my sentimental little side warms to the idea too. Continue tomorrow at Ritchie's gallery, where I should have been today if he hadn't cancelled me. Have to say that I am extremely glad things turned out the way they did or I would have missed the opportunity to bask in the best day of the year so far.

Learning to speak again

Lawyer-speak, that is. I was aware of the strange and wonderous ways of lawyers from our first and second brush with them, which involved a divorce and buying a house. Both experiences should have laid the foundations for a deep mistrust and a wish to 'stick a rocket up their ass' to paraphrase my grandmother. ( I hasten to add that my grandmother would never have sanctioned such teminology, but I'm pretty sure it was what she was thinking.)

So much pondering, so much writing of things and enclosing them in plastic folders and sending them back and forward to each other and other 'parties'. So little plain facts and plain talking.

I am deeply glad that the need for lawyers rises, is tolerated, and then fades away. If I had to deal with these people on a regular basis, I would be a wreck of a woman.

Tonight I read considered report on the property we hope to rent including such pitfalls as 'incomplete linoleum' - like, do they think we might not notice this and have plans to replace said flooring? Cracked window pane. Good lord these people are uncannily blessed with insight and vision beyond our comprehension; before them we are worms. Do they expect us to move into the property as we view it and just start trading? 'Come on folks, just take a seat anywhere - watch out for the missing linoleum and the half-hanging suspended ceiling; its a feature don't you know..'

So I end up writing doublespeak. What I want to write is 'We are not morons. We know that there will be repairs necessary but we have just wasted a week of my life getting someone else to write them out, type it up and carefully bind it in plastic, just to tell me that some repairs will be necessary. Just. Do. It.

This is not, of course, what I write. But I am deeply annoyed at another weekend of piddling about waiting to see what happens next, and will be even more deeply annoyed if a solution is not forthcoming pretty damned sharpish on Monday. Camping outside the office is looking like a sensible solution.

Rant over.

Windows to the soul

I have this fantastic image in my head from today; a customer whose shopping so perfectly fitted him that it made me wonder how often that happens. I must make a mental note to make a physical note when it does - I could have a little collection of character outlines in shopping...

I wrote a couple of Haikus in Glasgow on a similar note I guess; the age-old question of our character being reflected in our visage. Teresa in the 'Unbearable Lightness' gazing in the mirror hoping to see her soul (must look up that quote).

With her fruit trolley,

Old lady in Birkenstocks

Reminds me of me

A man with a nose

Wears his black hat tipped proudly

For promenading

That was the two from Glasgow... The guy I served today was all neaty sweety in a tweed suit; perfectly fitted with a high waist and immaculate tie. A reall dandy. Fluffy hair brushed, not combed and twinkling eyes. He was buying lemons and Parade Gloss shoe polish in brown.

Mrs Jigsaw

Skippety-skipped to my beloved cashdayjob today in the spring sunshine, humming the opening lines of 'Oh what a beautiful morning'. It rained soon after in true Edinburgh style, but felt great at the time to be seeing a hazy glimpse of the coming spring. Thought about how cool it will be if it is sunny in Amsterdam in a month's time, and how much I am looking forward to being there on holiday at last... always love the first day in a new city, rucksack on back and map not yet wadded into a ball in my hand. We always end up arriving by train from the airport after being stung too many times by taxi fares - even Bangkok has a spectacularly organised bus service for pennies; it is slow, but far preferable to air-con blandness and a rip off price.

Looks like the walk from the Amsterdam station takes us on a bit of a tourist whistle-stop of the city anyway, which will be good for getting bearings. For some reason my usually useless sense of direction becomes a finely honed machine once on holiday and becomes my main duty, while Stu handles finance. Nothing improves my lousy maths, especially an exchange rate sum to, so that is best left in safer hands.

Another weight has lifted tonight from my determinedly heavy brow (this week has been a vintage one for worry-mongering) with the email stating that our side of the finance is on target; big sigh of relief. Now I can shift my worrying attentions to the survey result and the 'damp problems' alluded to therein. If I had found a tenement basement in Edinburgh without damp I think I would deserve a medal, so no surprises, just be good to know what course of action is needed and how much. Starting to look into grants for renovations tomorrow as there must be something we can go for...

Messing with little paintings suggested by the big one I just finished, which is very satisfying and given me ideas for signage within the gallery and cafe; Mrs Jigsaw may be appearing in a few places soon...

At home on the island

Another of the winter days that reminds me of the 'Spoon' lyric; 'the winter gets cold in ways you always forget'. Thats the seasons in a nutshell for me; it always takes me by surprise how long the winter is; when it snows I have to re-learn snow walking and snow travel-timing. On such days as these I am puzzled by the huge span of time since we last saw leaves and flickering sun through the trees. Days seem shorter each year and nights longer; the cold is damper and more cutting. Come the summer I am amazed all over again by the long days; being able to garden into the evening and wake to green outside the window and the chippering birds.

I am noticing the span of time this winter in particular as I count down to a change in our life and circumstances, while trying.. so.. hard not to count the minutes, the days and the seconds passing. I try to follow the very logical idea of living in the moment; relishing the time we have and not wasting days, evenings waiting for the next dawn, but it is suddenly very hard.

This said; today was very enjoyable despite the damp grey and the tendency to pessimism and worry that keeps settling on me. Met up with a friend in Stockbridge and obsessed over other peoples cafes while also managing a couple of fine charity shop purchases and seeing some small gallery shows along the way. Comparing notes with another artist does one of two things to me; fills me with fear for our collective fate at the hands of recession and poverty, or inspires me to carry on regardless in the face of the slings and arrows... today it kind of managed both. Bought a nice big piece of canvas and posted the painting I have just finished to FB to a small flurry of positive comments. Great way to manage the transition between paintings - find just the right amount of inspiration and support, stretch a new canvas and take the plunge. I can't help thinking how much easier it would be if I could see something out the window; I feel like an island.

Parade for the birth of Bon

Okay, stay with me here... this is about the painting I have essentially finished today on a very quiet day in the Ritchie Collins gallery in Leith, where I spend my Sundays.
This is welcome respite as we are busy setting up a business that will, all things willing, open in early May after an April of renovations, equipment and artists. The company is called Bon Papillon, and we now have all of our 'setting up' business completed; me and Stu can entertain ourselves calling each other 'Director' and looking at our little folder of mysterious papers that may or may not become relevant as the year progresses. Now, Bon Papillon is also a wee guy who appears in my paintings, due to an earlier quote from a college friend about me seeming as if I was 'newly emerged from a narrow cocoon'. That was a while back and I feel as if the line could have applied numerous times in my years, but none more so than now, as we finally break free of the catering industry and set off into the sunset on our own. So... the painting I have been working on is essentially a celebratory picture of the 'emerging' of Bon the butterfly (aka me) into his new and strange world. Previous pictures have alluded to a kind of harem called the 'Joy Garden'; I have invented various characters who live there and so it seemed a natural extension of this to have Bon emerging from the garden alongside some of its stranger inhabitants. The fact that we are about to set up a business in the shade of the Botanic Gardens is yet another serendipity to add to the pile.
The wee guys accompanying Bon on his debut are a mixture of Hieronymous Bosch and Toy Story; quite where they came from in my mind is a worry, but this is them straight from sketch book to canvas in a day, so they must have been living in there somewhere...


The more I look at it, the more I think that I reveal more about myself than I realise in my paintings; certain things have a habit of recurring and the whole feel tends to be very autobiographical. The problem comes in explaining this to a sceptical punter when he enquires politely what it is 'about'. 'Well, its about my emergance from the shadow of a number of opressive forces that have dogged my life for a while, the support of those who are helping me attain this and the motley crew of influences, friends and circumstances that have led me to this historic personal threshold. Not sure about the jigsaw lady.'


Its a puzzle I guess.

Kind of, kind of

Kind of funny, kind of sad how I can still waste a day of freedom and relaxation by becoming a worry-monger, focusing on negatives and generally not making the most of the time given. It was as if my dark side ganged up on me from the outset today and I didn't have a chance to struggle against it; one of those archetypal 'got out the wrong side' days. Of course, the view greeting me on opening the curtains was of sheets of sleet; the hills veiled in a chilly fog and the poor tentative plants wishing they had stayed budded for a few weeks longer.

I know that by the time Stu returns I will have cured myself of my guilt and realised that, in amongst the angst I did actually achieve something; so as an exercise, I shall pre-empt myself and figure out what they were...

1) Exchanged DVD that was not working for a copy that is, free of charge or hassle

2) Took Stu's ma out for lunch and shopping

3) Found out how to create my own website and began the process

4) Wrote out mailing list for Bon Papillon from all my past contacts

5) Made dinner

And just to see how stupid it looks in print, here are my main worries of the day..

1) Have become suddenly fat, overnight

2) Have become alarmingly spotty

3) Have wasted day off in that no painting has been done

4) Failed to hoover house

5) Have yet to pin down artists for first show of not-yet-open gallery

6) Cats seem unsettled and worrysome (now both curled up asleep)

Guess I might as well go and do some painting and then all I have to worry about is going on a supermodel-designed crash diet and hoovering the house. Wooo.

A hiccup and some good ideas

The good ideas come from a FB friend who I find very interesting; her ideas come from a book by Julia Cameron called 'The Artists' Way' which is concerned with inspiration, motivation, the processes of being an artist. The two things she mentioned are the 'Morning Pages' and the 'Artist's Date'. The former consists of sitting down and writing for three pages straight without 'thinking' about it, thus gradually finding your 'inner voice'. Although I usually do it at night, my blog has the same aim, although I could not have put the idea to paper so eloquently. I do know that writing and thinking has become a good bit easier (and my typing speed quicker) over the course of the year. I guess it has impacted on my painting too, but that would be hard to gauge as so many things have changed over the last 12 months which have affected the way I work. Mostly positive, miraculously.

The 'Artists' Date' is also something I am familiar with but had not formally identified; I know that I work better after one of my 'wanders' ; to a craft fair, gallery, bookshop, or even a garden.

Somehow it kick-starts the creative process by getting all the images running through my mind, and probably helping with relaxation too. Ordered the book (second hand) from Amazon.

The hiccup... comes in the form of a slightly negative survey of the property we are hoping to rent for the gallery~cafe. I don't have the full details and will have to wait over the weekend (cheers) to see them, but the words 'damp' and 'timbers' were mentioned. Call me optimistic, but I would be really surprised if the survey of a tenement didn't include these words.. as least the dreaded 'subsidence' isn't present. The way I see it; as long as the work isn't too prohibitive, it is preferable to starting all over again looking for another comparable property in terms of location, size, specification etc. which may or may not exist at this time or within the next six months. By then we will be out of work, temping or begging and fast running through our savings. So. Bring on the damp and lets hope we can get it sorted within a reasaonable budget, bearing in mind the above alternative. Fingers crossed. We had the same problem buying our house and used the same solution; gradual renovation within budget to achieve the aim over time. Patience.

Gathering

Building up a small, but growing collection of small paintings on my sideboard, destined for the gallery we are opening in a couple of months. Spending plenty of quality time looking for other artists to show as well, which is one of the reasons I am looking forward to getting into the business. Hope to find some good companions for this little lot.

Break and Decoration

A truly lovely and optimistic day despite the appalling Edinburgh drizzle doing its best to dampen the procedures and lower spirits. They were not to be lowered today. Took the bus in to allow wandering and started with our meeting at Pagan Osborne in their lovely offices on Queen Street; whipped off my dodgy green knitted hat (made by the cook on the Buddhist meditation retreat I attended two years ago; treasured possession) before entering and tried to look as professional as possible when rain bedraggled and feeling scruffy due to the bizarre decision not to wash my hair this morning. Meeting ended talking about renovation of New Town houses and their curvy doors, which was the greater part of the time as all we really needed to do and know was over in a few minutes. Hand over passports and address ID, sign some paper and confirm that 1st April is a practical start date (Yessss!!) and that was that. All we have to do is wait with optimism that the survey doesn't reveal anything too hideous and we.. are... go.........!!!

Already booked a guy to sand the floor as he did our back room and was so laid back and cheap that there was no other choice. How cool is is going to look.. had a shifty at the Farrow and Ball shop for paint on our travels today as well. Great, despite wanting to head-butt a 'workie' who watched me caressing paint brushes and observed that 'they're all the same and you should go to B&Q.' Obviously likes his walls with added hair. Muttered that I was an artist and rather liked brushes, but left of the expletives I wished to add. Far too nice a day for picking fights with morons.

Checked out the Flaubert Gallery in Stockbridge; nothing particular caught my eye apart from a couple of gorgeous drawings by Blythe Scott. Looked her up tonight and just love all of her paintings; amazing colour, light, pattern... and they are architectural, which is so not usually me. Hoping, hoping we might get to show some in Bon Papillon; I'm looking in earnest for painters and ceramics for the kick-off show and for the rest of the year; be good to get an outline of what I aim to do before it all gets crazy and my mind is pulled in all directions.

The other really good show we saw today was Alexander Fraser, at the Scottish Gallery. Freakishly similar to what I have been mulling in my brain for my own development; still life based but with amazing flights of fancy and imagination developing across the canvas. Muted but stunning colour and humour too; in a good way. Find it very hard to believe I haven't seen any before; maybe I have... but not often. He is RSA, RSW, so must have been in some of the shows I have been perusing over the past years, surely? Great show and lots of it too; whole top floor of the gallery, which is usually split into two.

Now thinking of dinner and a movie after playing with our new jigsaw, priming up canvases and booking our so, so much needed break to Amsterdam. Can't believe it's been a year and a half without a trip abroad; this will be an amazing wee time for us in the few days leading up to 'renovation'; get some more good ideas too no doubt. Pack the cameras and sketchbooks... and a damn good pair of walking shoes if I know Stu like I know Stu.....

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Ah, Valentines day... a.k.a. *the one we ignore*. Having worked in the hospitality industry for over ten years and served I don't know how many over-priced, thoughtless meals, I am not about to celebrate it now. However, I am not immune to thoughts of lurve, I just dislike condensing them into a cheesy love-fest for 24 hours. How about this for love: having met my gorgeous Chef, I embarked on a fourteen year career in catering to enable our relationship to flourish despite his ungodly working hours. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em very much the logic behind the decision. (Although 'decision' is really too strong a word, it was really just swimming with the tide.) Now I realise that I am not the only one to bend myself to fit our partnership; the self confessed 'art heathen' has gradually reached the point that last night I was greeted by the 'artmag' being poked in my face with suggestion of visiting the Jeff Koons exhibition. (As a side issue, he can now also differentiate between a Galliano and a Gaultier, my witchy witchy work again...) I will never forget our first visit to the Musee Picasso in Paris, watching the scepticism turn to joy and wonder as we walked the rooms; last time we were in the city I was dragged forcibly to the Rodin museum, berated for not having disclosed its location before.

Leopards and spots, books and covers... maybe not so clear cut...

The birth of Bon

Had a good little 'at peace with the world day' today; all ticking along like tickety-boo. Woke up early but not tired and received my regulation tea in bed (can't fault the boy for that one) before driving aforementioned boy into his work. Okay, maybe a shade of blackmail involved but who's counting? Returned in the morning drizzle to complete my business plan - as ever the finishing was very much a whimper rather than a bang - and patted myself on the back before heading 'cross town to Ritchie's gallery. It has been a long, lean winter of Sundays gallery sitting - I enjoy the solitude and peace to paint but feel faintly guilty being paid to do it. Today at last we had a return to form on the customer front; I have heard echoes of this sentiment during the week, that the great hibernation was over, but it is good to see it in person.

Helped that it was Valentine's eve, so quite a few seeking cards and gifts, including the very lovely individual who treated his love to one of my Angel/cat paintings. I know in my heart that it is never a bad thing to paint cats, but fear it as the pigeonhole is daunting. Mad cat lady. I know I'm headed that way in a fast car anyway and think Bridget Bardot had far more credibility in her animal sanctuary years, but there is still a nub of resistance...

Also had one of those wonderful and spontaneous days of painting when it all just goes right. Been pondering colour again and why I manage to screw it up so often; I think it is the fear. When I am relaxed and 'in the mood' it all comes together because I have no reticence in application. Sad mood or blue mood = blue. Literally. Seems I can't break away from the colour when I am thinking too much and before you know it there is yet another tonal study in shades of sky and ocean. Would matter less if it was a picture of sky and ocean, but it rarely/never is.

So tonight, in between thinking about a new website and writing a resignation letter, I am gazing lovingly at the second stage of 'Parade for the birth of Bon'. Bon, of course, is the butterfly on the logo of my new business, so the painting is self explanatory in an autobiographical way. Time for a small box canvas to keep me on my toes; the big one can wait for better light.

Director's cut

Bateau-Lavoir Days is coming to its final weeks! I had always intended to to the full year until events took over and the long awaited business plans began to snowball. Now I find myself suddenly the Director of a new company alongside my co-director Stu, looking into the abyss. Luckily, from where I'm standing right now, (and that's after my SWOT analysis for the final pages of the business plan), it all looks pretty green and lush down in the abyss. Flowers, waterfalls, little animals skipping among verdant pastures, you get the image. Kind of like in Jurassic Park but with less Velociraptors. Have I ever mentioned that Twig the kit makes a noise like a Velociraptor, or at least like the ones in the movie when they are tweaking things in the kitchen looking for the child actors...

In my own little movie I am just reaching a turn of the reel - the 'cigarette burns'. One roll is coming off and another going on marked 'Bon Papillon'. If all goes to plan, and that is how we start every sentence at the moment, I will swap reels on my blog at the end of March, as we return from our much, much needed break in Amsterdam and embark on the new and wonderful experience that I am quite sure self employment will be. Thing is, if there is one thing I love it is learning, and something tells me that the curve is about to get sharper. Woo hoo.

OOt on the TOOn

Must be a milestone of sorts; met up with wonderful old college friend tonight and actually went into town.. into not one, but two bars... attended a private view full of interesting art and fashion related people! Now this has not happened for a very.. long.. time. Part of this is due to the year of poverty and my now second nature miserliness/frugality, but part is also due to a growing fear of reverting to such situations after such an absence, and sober to boot!

Glad to report that I am still able to talk rubbish, put the world to rights and buy unneccessary accessories without the aid of alcohol; no practice required either, I was like a duck to water. The early bed-time is probably the only thing that has changed (and the horror of spending a tenner on two drinks and some olives) and that is only due to the limiting factor of drinking fizzy water. It just doesn't sustain one as alcohol does, fails to propel the body forth on a night of mystery and intrigue in quite the same way. I get, you know, tired and start to think in a far-too-rational way about dinner, slippers and cat feeding. Still, it is a good compromise between my recent life of the ascetic and the dimmer past of debauchery and waste.

I just know that when Stu gets back from his night at the stove I will feel like Bill Murray in 'Lost in Translation' talking on the phone about his night out in Tokyo.. 'it was in this really, really great house... there were Japaneses surfers there..'

No surfers in fact, but I did meet an impossibly structured Scandinavian model who looked like another species, but was very pleasant, and a Siberian-Estonian artist who knew my work. Woh.... freaky. And cool. Must get out more:)

Ebb and Flow

'I come back to you now, at the turn of the tides...' Good old Gandalf in Lord of the Rings (Peter Jackson version, can't remember if he says that in the book and am not about to flick through to find out. Just totally feeling that now. People I haven't heard from for years keep appearing in my life, long stories unknown to me and such long paths travelled from where they last diverged.

I have the feeling that always comes in spring, the beginning, rebirth, emerging, stretching to the sun.. but this year is is even more so. I feel like running everywhere and have done so on a few occasions this week, probably making myself look like a loon and not caring. In sleet and snow, running down Dundas Street to meet old friends at the Royal Academy building; thinking how this has been my home for so long now that I would feel like a tourist in London. I like to follow the eyes of the visitors as they gaze at buildings to try and see what they are seeing, as they see it; for the first time, in wonder.

Part of me is dissolusioned with people and their bitchy little ways, but I feel that if I just shake my shoulders they will fall away and leave me with the solid people I can trust and be comfortable with. I can feel the wind turning and the chance to take flight, make a great leap 'beyond myself'. Don't laugh, it is happening.

Cat Crazytown

A vintage night for lovers of cats' crazy little ways in my house tonight. Apologies to those of you without sympathy for the mad ways of our furry friends, but lets face it, you are wrong. They are cool, funny and good in bed (in a strictly platonic sense before those eyebrows shoot up); not many people can match up to that.

First Twig indulged in some light sweater hunting while I was on the phone to my mum; leaping from the top of the door to my (open plan) wardrobe thingy she stalked my furry brown jumper, stealthily winding between Stu's shirts before pouncing dramatically, catching the jumper quite unawares. Much kneading ensued, while clamping the jumper in her little teeth to prevent escape (naturally) until it was subdued; then it was speedily and efficiently carried to the lair (under desk) for more pummelling. And then discarded, forgotten. Had I not been in the room, crying with laughter, I would now be wondering how the hell my brown furry jumper ended up under the desk. Or more likely having the living bejesus scared out of me on entering the bedroom and spying an alien brown animal lurking in wait for me in the shadows....

Act two: all quiet in the living room working at the computer, cats arranged in artful cat positions on furniture when all at once from another part of the house we hear a *BIG NOISE*. Cats assume face and posture that translates as 'Mum! We heard a *BIG NOISE* from out there somewhere!!' They remain frozen, ears back and flat to the ground as 'mum' daringly creeps from room to room to find the cause; 'guard cats?' I think not...

Only to find the poor Amarylis (rescued from under the sink in a box not two weeks ago where it had begun to force its way out of the cardboard) has toppled to its fate on the bathroom floor...

Cleaning up the compost and water is hampered by the suddenly mobile furry friends deciding to help by digging, snuffling, dancing in the damn stuff. I suppose I should be grateful that the word 'earthtray' didn't occur to them in time or I would be cleaning up cat poop (again) as well..