First and foremost, I’m a scribbler. Ce la vie. Since I’ve been old enough to hold a pen I’ve been colouring, writing and creating. There’s lot to be said for expression and creativity. It’s moulded me into who I am, I create and I communicate.
Most days for me are very much tied up into the dreary brush teeth, eat breakfast, go to work, come home and repeat. However recently something rather poignant happened.
I suffered for the first time in my confident life with social anxiety. This nervous energy spurred days inside, ceiling staring and being unable to leave my bed. My only solace was through drawing, making and writing. So I ask you, to take a step into my new world. All be it one I’m beginning to leave behind.
I wake up, roll out of bed and go to the kitchen where I begin to make my first cafeteria of the day. Strong, black coffee. My mother has always said I like it like rocket fuel, but I digress.
I sit at my table, laptop open and begin sorting through the accumulated spam, junk, invitation and important emails of the day.
Coffee is gone, so now some orange juice. I’m a serial list maker; it’s become a functioning disorder, a way to make every overwhelming section of the day bite size. I sometimes even go as far to make a list for my list. But today, things are quite simple as I’m taking a well-deserved holiday from my day job.
Today I am going to paint. Today, that is all I can do.
I set out my favourite colour; peaches blues, greens and one in particular “Perylene Violet’. I begin to make the first strokes on cotton paper, picking up textures from the carpet beneath me. As the colours merge into what looks like a flesh, I begin to abstract.
Coffee. I’ve been lost for the last two hours in the smallest details. Thinking and processing what it is that is lying beneath me as I continue to stipple, consider and furrow my brow.
I’m chewing on some toast, and just looking. What am I making? What is the point of this? Where is it’s purpose? Does it matter?
Sod it. Crack on.
The lines are beginning to flow into landscapes of flesh bones and sinews, covered in bruises. These colours are fascinating, immersive and beginning to come to life.
Remember to call Sky.
I decide to call upon a friend. I hear there’s a puppetry showcase and exhibition at the Arnolfini which suddenly seems like the most important thing that I must go to. We begin to book tickets, book tickets and talk about how amazing and uncanny the whole experience is.
Realise I have completed nothing on my list.
I put on some music. I sit and I draw birds. I begin to plan what they will look like when they become sculptures, with little feet and delicate faces. I plan on using wax again, perhaps latex to hold the whole thing together?
Where did the day go…
I write proposals and send in portfolio’s pieces and collections to local galleries. I’ve recently moved. I want to make a good impression and I really want to begin exhibiting again. I’ve only exhibited once this year.
Hot ribena, blanket, couch.
I’ve been reading “Nights at the Circus” again by Angela Carter. I pick it up but decide to try something new. I pick up Master and Margerita and begin to read.
Take myself to bed, curl up. Set alarm. Throw list in the bin.