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...