Pour Swain

" The truth is the only thing worth having, and, in a civilized life, like ours, where so many risks are removed, facing it is almost the only courageous thing left to do. "

E.V. Lucas

This Will Heal Given Time

"Self-destruction is the effect of cowardice in the highest extreme."
Daniel Defoe

Orbiting

To answer the few of you who emailed to enquire where I've disappeared to, my involvement with blogs over the past 2 months has mainly consisted of reading other peoples. My own lies untended and with a hefty stack of half written posts in my draft folder.

Never one to understand doing something for the sake of doing it, I've realised/accepted the reoccurring patterns between my blogging and my creative process in the 'real' world. It can't be forced. Ideas spring forth, i capture them, the work is completed but only when my heart is in it.

Life has been chaotic and at times confusing over the past few months. These changes has stirred things up, brought amazing people into my life and reawakened parts of me which have lain dormant for many years. As a result I've taken a few steps back from other areas and will be resuming shortly.

For now I'm taking pleasure in the simple things:

Listening to Crass at top volume

Devouring two new books: 'Just Kids' by Patti Smith and 'Voudon Gnosis' by David Beth.

Giving Swain Corvus a head scratch whilst watching 'The Walking Dead'.

The smell wafting from my kitchen with lemon roasted chicken in the oven.

Listening to WGH rhapsodize about cricket over a few drinks.

Sending positive thoughts after hearing bad news about an old flame and hoping that he gets the help he so badly needs.

Ten Days #2

Over the past ten days I've been doing far too much of the following:

• Worrying (with an extra helping of stress)
  
• Drinking tea in my favourite cafe
• Staring at the work of Sylvia Ji
• Painting my face
• Having nightmares
  

Ten Days

Ten days filled with amazing people, sights, sounds, smells, tastes and experiences.

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

Alexander Pope
An Essay on Man, Epistle I, 1733