Twilight moment

And... breathe. I wish I could put my finger on what makes me have days like yesterday - starting full of promise and without a cloud on the horizon, ending with me gnarled and nagged with worry. One of the reasons I decided to post to the blog every day was because I wanted to make myself work through moods like that and give myself no excuse to cop out and go to bed with 'issues' unresolved. Blog as therapy, if you like.

The swallows and house martins have sneaked away; just as the bats coming out tells me that the light has faded to *ping* that certain point, so the swallows leaving lets me know that the days have reached a crucial stage, the cold is creeping in and the leaves are thinking of turning. The horse chestnuts are off already, always quick off the blocks. For us it is an important turn of the season as we are heading into what will hopefully be the final few months of our frugal year. Talking yesterday though I am unsure that I will ever be able to return to the spending habits of old; I certainly can't envisage forking out £70 for hairstyles when I have had to keep to that as a week's budget...no more highlights unless they come out of a d.i.y. box out of Superdrug.

Spent an entertaining morning tearing pieces out of Sunday supplements and reading an excellent article on the Ballet Russe, whose costumes from the early part of the century are about to go on show. One of their main designers was Bakst, who I have read about but must look up again; they also of course used artists such as Matisse and Picasso, who apparently gave costumiers a nightmare with the translation of their vision from sketch to the stage. Some amazing old photos of the company in costume as well as stunning clothes that have clearly inspired generations of designers. Ended up being quite fashiony with the angel I have been painting; she is a kind of seventies afro-angel in a kimono, which I can blame on my friend Bill first and foremost for mentioning that she was going to see a performance of 'Hair' which popped the image into my head. A bit of reading on costume, fashion and a mental visit to Biba and the rest fell into place. I realise also that there is a picture in my torn-out pile of a girl with flower hair, so I guess that crept into my subconscious too.

The other picture I particularly like from my magazine raiding is a great little woodcut which has rekindled my desire to learn; the only issues I have with the idea are that I think it may mean a move over to different media as I can't imagine it is that easy to clean acrylic off a woodblock, and I am unsure as to whether the blocks will work over paint on board. The answer will be in the pudding, as they (don't) say. Or in the eating, one or the other.

Having another show to work towards has meant that I am once again a few steps ahead of myself in terms of subject; I am already worrying about getting boards for paintings that are just a doodle in a sketch book, a twinkle in an eye. Looks like I am going to be able to take up the offer to paint and gallery-sit on Sundays - I can hardly see it as work, and I am really looking forward to it, even if it means an official six day week. I would do seven just now if I thought it would get me closer to where I want to see myself.

And *boom* in the course of writing we have gone from twilight to pitch black outside; batty-bats no longer visible, if they are indeed out there as usual on their rounds.