Sometimes when I sit down to write, I can use the journal of my everyday, my visual journal. Other times, I need a blank sheet of lined paper with no other distractions. No image, no colour just a clean slate.
Here I might start with the impression I was left with after my walk. Burgundy. Burgundy what? Wall, poster, leaf? I would try to describe the colour for someone who hasn’t seen it. Is it a flat colour? Dull or sharp? No this burgundy was vivid because it was so shocking to the eye around so much green. There I’m starting to bring in comparisons. I’m starting to bring in feelings.
I could worry this line for ages but the aim is to keep going. Just like walking. Keep one foot moving in front of the other and so the writing of lines is the same. Keep moving the pen over the page, keep the words flowing. This is just the first draft. Things are bound to be wrong, messy, cliched. But only when you’ve words on the page are you able to start the pruning and beautifying process. You have to have something on the page to work with before you can create the masterpiece. The poem.
There are many drafts of the poem, of the same line even. Adding in words. Taking others out. Switching of verbs for more specific ones, verbs that are really working it within this line or that.
At all times the purpose is to leave the reader with an impression. To get them to connect to the words not with their head but with their heart. To move them in some way. Create a shift.
Today I appreciate abundance within my life. Today I take the time and space to rest and restore. It’s funny but I can take on life 100mph, feel the burn, bemoan the lack of time and energy for what I want to do but keep going. It’s only when I stop and breathe do I notice my aching throat, my throbbing hips and sprouting bunions.
Taking time today to rub (foot) butter into my feet and it feels like such a luxury when really it should be a necessity. A must.
I can hear the bells (here in Malaga). I’m not sure why they toll or why so often but I hear them. They give me pause. They make me pay attention and listen.
I’m listen to my heart and this quiet voice inside which is always whispering; what do you want to be? Who are you becoming?
These oranges grow in abundance along the streets in the centre of Malaga. I don’t get tired of looking up at them. Their colour, their richness and juiciness tantalise me.
They hang just out of reach just like my dreams. But that doesn’t stop me from trying to catch one or two.
#authenticsheshe #rewilding #permission #abundance #gratitude #atthecrossroadsofshouldandmust #honesty #dreams #becoming #stopanddrop #bunions
I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I’m not even sure if ‘they’ would call it art.
I just know I’m having a good time.
I love colour. Always have. As a child, I would fill a piece of A4 white paper with doodles. I would colour the whole sheet in with colour. Different colours, All the colours I had in my colouring box. And then I would give these creations away.
I loved to give them to my Dad, as a sign of love. I wanted him to these creations to the bookies with him, to show to all his friends. To show how proud he was of me. To show them ( and me) how much he loved me.
I’m not sure if he did show his friends my colouring in. I just know I gave them to him, wanting him to be proud of me. To make him happy. To make him love me.
These days, as I sit quietly, swirling bright marker pens across a sea of white I feel a giddiness in my core. The fluttering of excitement starts in my belly and travels towards mt throat where it has to erupt into ‘aarrr’ or laughter. I experience pure joy at the sight of rich ruby red taking over white. Shocking pink crowding out white. Turquoise swimming into white territory. Witnessing colour moving into the blank spaces and taking over, talking and mingling with each other is a pleasure that I want to repeat again and again. Like an orgasm. I want more x