I'm a slow motion accident

 

Something soft to cushion me...

 

Started it this morning. Listening to Cibelle and being inspired by her beautiful words.

Sintra

I love the design of these tiles. I took this photograph in Sintra, a beautiful city which is a 25 minute drive from Lisbon.

 

The best rooftop cafe in Lisbon

 

Little sis

She's leaving tomorrow after a very short visit. I'm sad :(

 

*

Introducing...Antonio

Aaaawww

 

Berardo Museum

Here I am, trying to understand the complexities of colour.

 

New Piece: November

I went into self destructive mode, cutting up the piece I had previously called November (you can see it in one of my previous posts) and reconstructing it entirely. I used alot of magazines for this, with a nifty little paper cutter. Very happy with it.
November 06 to November 07 was a year filled with many stories, some sad and others joyful. The red leaves fall gracefully, dying without being forgotten.

 

New Soul

Finally! A song that cheers me up.
I shouldnt be here should I?
Back next week, with bigger ideas and a happier heart.

Bang Bang, he shot me down

Photograph by Hayley Newman. It could be a still from a movie or real life. Has she just had an argument with her father? Or did she just see an ex lover with a new woman? Is she still in love with him? Has she just given up on trying to pull herself together? On trains you can see how much of a bad or good day a person has had by the look on their faces. Public transport is a public stage for feelings, and it is the ultimate act of breaking down because you know you will attract an audience who will be fascinated by it.

Gonna have a blogging break for a few days. My darling sister's coming over from London for a well overdue visit. I had a bit of a creative breakdown yesterday, just too many self doubts. Sad songs and sad films were probably the culprits.
Will set up my own website soon, with all my poetry and paintings. My sister's a web designer so she should get me started on it. I haven't told her yet though. I'm sure she will love me for it.

The Attic

In here there has never been light.

As I open the trapdoor

I am lifting a darkened weight.



Pressed flowers on my dress

hung up from a beam,

to find and recall,

my fingers run down it like hair.



Pale lace at the hem shifts

as its colour seeps back,

into a girl who spun around.

She is gently unravelled.



What was once my light,

is now a hardened centre,

but as I take it down,

flecks of dust rise and fall



and like tiny puppets

they dance in the light.

piece by piece

First of all must go
Your scent upon my pillow
And then I'll say goodbye
to your whispers in my dreams.
And then our lips will part
In my mind and in my heart,
Cos your kiss
Went deeper than my skin.

Piece by piece
is how I'll let go of you
Kiss by kiss
Will leave my mind one at a time
One at a time

First of all must fly,
My dreams of you and I,
There's no point of holding on to those
And then our ties will break,
For your and my own sake,
Just remember,
This is what you chose

Piece by piece
Is how I'll let go of you
Kiss by kiss,
will leave my mind one at a time
One at a time

I'll shed like skin,
Our memories of lazy days,
And fade away the shadow of your face

Piece by piece
Is how I'll let go of you
Kiss by kiss,
Will leave my mind one at a time
One at a time
One at a time
One at a time

tender words

Beautiful pieces by Faryn Davies. She uses found objects and texts which are set in resin. This is the kind of work that keeps me going with my own especially on nights like these, when I feel like I am going nowhere with it.

Saturday Night Weepie

I'm sick. The cold has finally paid me an unwelcome visit after months of wading through classrooms of coughs and sneezes and thinking in a rather smug way that I must be super immune and healthier than ever.
So what did I do? I decided to watch The Notebook, a film adaptation of a novel by Nicholas Sparks. I was a complete apoplectic blubbering wreck so watching this film was really not a good idea given my current phsyical condition.
Lets just say I did alot of ugly crying topped off with whiny sounds. The kind of crying that looks like you are sucking on a lemon, and choking on it at the same time.
Never again. I swear it. Never never never.

 

November

Here's a new piece I started this morning. I made a big mistake though, because the paper started warping as it was not strong enough to take so much water with the goauche. whoops!. Well I'm gonna keep going with this one and learn from my mistakes. Will have to start stretching the paper next time which is something I have never done before!
This piece is inspired by a song with the same title by the swedish singer Laleh.

Decided to add words and other bits and pieces. Covered up those dots on the head too....getting distracted by other things like my poetry and a short story, and teaching. Teaching is the normal part of my life. Everything else involves too much coffee, chocolate and being glued to the internet. And forgetting to eat three meals. Which is a very very bad habit.
There was something smelly in the fridge this morning so I think I should address that situation now.

 

Here it is

 

I still need to clean up the lines around the eyes and the marks on the face, and embellish it more. Which basically means it is not finished. I am the queen of never finishing anything. But I thought if i don't post anything soon my blog will go stale.

 

Painting a piece with gouache and acrylic. Enjoying it so far but didnt count on how long it would take. Will reveal all when its done.

Yael Naim Too Long

*click on her name to hear the song.
Fell in love the moment I listened to it.


I waited for so long
Outside myself
You see I was pretending
To be someone else
I was longing to see
Who i wanted to be

And I've been waiting on my own
I've been waiting for too long
Not strong enough to be with you
And I've been making up my world
I've been painting it with gold
Not strong enough to see you

I irrigate illusions
Then let them grow
How can I pacify myself?
And let go
And I run wild to see
Who I turned out to be

[...]

But it was too cold
In my world

The Butcher

Not sure about this piece. I always feel like Im cheating in some way when I use free verse, abit like playing with words for the fun of it. Nevertheless, it feels good to get back to my attempts at writing something. Inspired by my local butcher. Just goes to show how the most mundane of activities (buying meat for the week) can spark off creative bits and pieces in my head...

Well heres a weekends worth of poetry. A grand total of two.

The Butcher

To me he could be a painter,
since his hands are always red
and their prints leave ritual marks
all over his white coat.

When he pins down his muse,
A tentative creativity rises.
The practical part begins

Like a surgeon, which he could be
inspects the mass of red matter,
fingers eager for a spectacular incision

before cutting it like a cook
as though it were a plate of butter
Laid out into a collage of pink.
A boneless work of art.

I watch him as I wait
when under the flourescent light
and the cool glass
and the hum of a man working,
A hand reaches out for the heart.

The Birdkeeper

Here I am maddened
by what he gave me.
From the fourth floor of
this spell I will make
circles in the darkness-
I won't sing.

An aimless ascent
In the mote filled air,
Beaten and stricken
with mistiming. I
flutter past his door
on a spot, home in.

a blot on the moon,
He sleeps and rises
without me.

Ribbons

A poem I wrote last week. Its about the loss of innocence, mothers and daughters, fragile belief systems and cultural superstitions.

I had a jar of satin ribbons
frayed tongues of the rainbow,
Hair oil and a comb- a girl's treasure.

All mothers would spread it's net
across lakes of growing hair,
Comb it every morning before school,

Till it bled black-
Till it spoke and spat of colour-
Till it smelled of a distant island.

Anchored down by two red ribbons,
on the glass bed I saw a fat pearl
Glaring back at me. One eyed and lost

Mothers warn against this third eye.
They say it can see every part of you
Even if you try to hide it well.

A black snake hangs down my shoulder,
Red tongue against bitten skin.
I can't tell her. I saw what it saw.

Finished..kinda