Ooh Saucy!

Merry Christmas! I know, it's been an age since I last blogged, but I haven't had anything to say. Instead I thought you might like a little yuletide sauce. No, not cranberry, this is my latest finished piece.

I hollowed her out badly, fired her to stone hard and then finished her with coloured waxes. That bit was great fun! It was like painting, very relaxing and therapeutic. 

I haven't done much recently - been too busy being festive! But Elvis is well underway and I'll post some photos when he starts to take a bit more shape. Oh it's such a pleasure to sculpt the King himself...sigh...

Have a very merry Christmas one and all xx

Something Fishy

Hello, is there anyone out there? I don't blame you if you've all gone off to do something more interesting. I've been just rubbish lately!

I seem to have lost the ability to string a sentence together. So instead I'm just going to post a few photos of my latest sculpture. As I mentioned in my last post, I had no idea what I was going to produce but just that I needed to get started, feel the clay in my hands and stop being so precious about the whole process.

The point about clay is that it can always be changed, broken down, remade, no sweat. She started off a bit more abstract than this...okay, I didn't take the time to get her proportions right and so I had to go back & alter them at a later date. This involved chopping her head off at one point (and putting her back together when she fell in half - but that's another story!)

For me it's a really healthy process to hack my sculptures about. There is always a point when I've worked into the detail a bit and don't want to admit that the underlying form isn't quite right. So I ignore it, thinking that I can live with it not being just so - only to find that the more I try to hide from the problem, the more it stares me in the face. Hm, a bit like life then.



I'm doing a day's life drawing on Monday - really looking forward to making a mess and just going for it. I'll also be picking up a bag of clay so that I can make a start on Elvis. I'll keep posting the photos even if I can't write.

Lx

Creation

Hello to you all on this sunny day. How heavenly to be basking in this glorious heat! The fact that our wee shop is now full of winter woolies has not dampened my enthusiasm for sunshine. The rain will come again & our customers will come searching for warm clothes. In the meantime let us soak up the glorious rays.

I'm way behind with my blogging. I'm sure you'll all have given up on me by now. But on the off chance that some of my friends still glance my way, I'm posting you photos of my last sculpture to be glazed.

This one's called Creation. My idea was to combine Mother Earth and our spiritual side in the guise of the Angel Gabriel...don't ask, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I spray glazed this one like my heads. And like my heads, I had no idea how it would turn out. I knew that the thicker I applied the glaze, the more likely I would be to get elements of verdigris - rather than just a uniform shit brown. 

As you can see, the green appears where the glaze has pooled. Hooray! Otherwise it would look like an old pot.

I really like the finish that glazing gives and that the pieces are now stone-like and smooth. But the process was still scary and I'm not sure if I'll do it again.

I'm working now on another figurative piece. It's a woman rising up from the waves. I'd been a bit paralyzed - not knowing what to sculpt next and not wanting to start a new one until I'd finally completed the glazed stuff. Then I spoke to Max, my son, who'd been messing about with some air hardening clay. I was so chuffed that he'd chosen my medium to get creative in that it inspired me to get started again.

Ah, but my dear art college friend Ian came to visit last weekend and asked me why I hadn't yet combined my passion for Elvis with my sculpture and produced a bust of the King himself. Why indeed?! So now I'm all excited at the prospect of recreating my hero in 3D. I think I might try to cast it in various mad materials - who knows? The ideas always seem so plausible in my head, and then the translation turns out to be a nightmare. Wish me luck! 

Since I last blogged we've been to France & Scotland. France was hilarious & Scotland was cathartic & amazing. But we're off to London today for a trade show so I'll post this & write again on my return. X

The Finished Articles

I'm smiling because I'm finished - yay! Do you like my freckles? I didn't know that I would end up with them. Choosing to glaze my heads, I had no idea how they would turn out.


It was a nervous and frustrating day spent glazing. It's not an ideal way to finish sculptures. Applying glaze means biscuit firing the pieces first. This makes the clay hard but very fragile. See the chip in my chin? I did this when brushing the dust off my head! 


The technical aspect of glazing (especially when trying to digest it in a few hours) was baffling. Glaze itself is a combination of ingredients (minerals & clays & stuff - don't ask, I don't know). It's mixed with water to apply, and once the water evaporates it reverts to powder on the piece. Which can be easily brushed off - nightmare!


The numerous buckets of slurry all look the same - sludge coloured & nothing like their fired colour or quality. It was a leap of faith to pick a glaze and apply it. If the thickness is wrong it doesn't work; if the kiln is too hot or too cold it doesn't work. All my hours of sculpting down the drain, no second chance. Argh!! 


For the first three hours of my class it seemed as if I might not be able to glaze my heads at all. My wonderful tutor Alison is a tiny powerhouse with an infectiously hysterical laugh - think Barbara Windsor crossed with Kenneth Williams in Carry On Screaming: "Frying tonight!"


I was in stitches but no closer to understanding a word she was saying. Eventually she suggested that I spray the glaze on with a spray gun - fun! 


The process is extremely noisy & messy though, so I had to wait until the end of the day - panicking as I watched the ceramicists dipping & decorating their pots. But at last it was done - two heads & my winged figure. I could do no more. Let it go, pray for the best and wait for a phone call.  

We collected my heads on the day the Olympic torch passed through Petworth. Two momentous occasions in one day - eek! Alison recognised Chris from his portrait - a good sign. As we made our way to the kiln room she glanced back. 

"Oh we should have asked James to stay - he's a conservator." 

What?! "Why, do they need repairs?"

"Oh yes," she nodded cheerfully.

Oh no! Chris had survived pretty much intact but I was a little worse for wear. Well I did tell you I was cracked in the heid! I had a fine crack in my chest and the parting of my hair, and a bloody great crevasse in my back - ouch.

Not surprising considering we'd been fired to 1100 degrees. But now the clay is hard as stone. I may have a large crack but I'm well 'ard! 

I wasn't sure if I was disappointed or not. Chris, as ever, came to the rescue and raided his modelling supplies for Epoxy putty & enamel paints. I became my own conservator as over a week I filled & smoothed & mixed colour until the rents in our freckled flesh disappeared.

Now we're happily ensconced on the windowsill, welcoming guests on their way up our numerous stairs. Phew, job done.

PS: I'm off to collect my winged figure this morning. I've got everything crossed & will report back on its success or otherwise next time.

Lx

A Walk In The Park

Hello again campers. Ugh, camping... As a child we used to go camping to Pitlochrie - beautiful countryside, shit weather. In this respect I was born high maintenance. Give me a 5 star hotel over a tent every time. Perhaps if the weather had been more clement then my memories would be more affectionate. 


Always the drama queen, I was convinced that the promised fishing trip would result in me being caught on a fish hook, having been warned of the dangers of fish hooks & their irremovable barbs. Terrified out of my wits I did indeed become caught on a stray hook & screamed the place down (no chance of a catch after that). Knowing me, I was probably throwing myself in the line of fire, determined to prove my worst fears realised. 


Our tent's ground sheet was a magnet for creepy crawlies and I was apoplectic with horror as I scrabbled under the sheet to locate these squirming beasties. Finally exhausted by so much excitement I fell asleep only to be woken in the wee small hours by a horse's head in our tent. No, it was not Don Corleone perpetrating a dirty deed, but a real, live horse come to see what we were up to.


When the rain came and we were mercifully washed from the banks of the river back to our snug semi, I was overcome with joy. Little did my parents know as they plied me with new dolls to placate me for the aborted holiday, that I was convinced that my fervent wishing had led to this result.


But I digress (already?). My intention was to tell you some more funny stories, courtesy of my dear friends. Okay, so the first one isn't really funny at all. But you know how you used to get a fit of the giggles at school, and the less appropriate it was to laugh, the more you did? Well this is one of them.


A delightful customer of ours came into the shop last week to buy a pair of jeans. She'd just returned from a fortnight in Spain to see her daughter & grandchildren. It was a well - earned break because prior to that she'd been busy organising a big party for her aged mother in law's birthday.She'd been rather pleased with her gift to said lady - a special chair that reclined and moved upright at the push of some buttons. I know all about these as my own mother in law has one too, and loves it.


As she was leaving I asked how she was enjoying the chair. This dear customer looked stricken and said that she was having to remove it - probably sell it on Ebay. The old lady's carer had phoned to say that she just couldn't get the hang of it and as a result had suffered a nasty bump to her head. "Out like an egg it was." My poor customer was so upset and disappointed that her thoughtful gift had caused such an injury.


I felt deep sympathy for both of them. But at the same time I was trying not to laugh, as images of this nonagenarian catapulting herself repeatedly out of the chair filled my head. Terrible I know, but it still makes me laugh now.


This next one came courtesy of a lively discussion overheard in a pub in Edinburgh, when I was visiting my family in May this year: A group of Scottish dignitaries were being treated to a tour of Hopetoun House and it's extensive parklands. The park rangers had rigged a tractor up to a trailer and seated the dignitaries comfortably, ready to show them the special features of the park.


As one of them drove, the other sat in the trailer pointing out the herds of deer and glorious lakes.


"And to your left is the magnificent North Deer Park."
"And to your right..."
"And to your left another group of our famous Rhododendrons."


As the tour guide had turned and pointed to his right he had spied a bare bottom thrusting up and down in the bushes. Yes, an amorous couple had decided to indulge in some alfresco shagging! They obviously thought that with 150 acres to choose from they'd be safe from prying eyes. 


But it gets worse. The dignitaries now alerted to there being something not quite right...on the right, turned to see what was amiss. Whereupon the man leapt up in a panic with his trousers round his ankles, exposing himself to the tour, and then dived for cover into a bush! Too funny.


This last one is really just a moment but had me creased up with laughter. Our dear friend Georgie and her sister popped round last Sunday morning for a coffee with their kids. Jo had never been to our house so Chris offered to give her a tour. (No, no naked shaggers this time.) He took her up to our roof terrace with its fine views of the rooftops and the South Downs. Asking Jo how she'd enjoyed it, I was disappointed to see her looking a bit upset. It turns out that she suffers from vertigo - always has.


"Oh no, it's awful. My legs just turn to jelly. Once I had to attend a work meeting in the tall glass building that looks like a boat, on the banks of the River Thames. The clients led us to the window to see the view. My legs just buckled and my hands slid down the window. Then I had to crawl on my hands and knees in my work suit, with my bulging work bag slung over my shoulder, all the way to the lift."


No sympathy for Jo either - we all peed our pants laughing! As Heidi said, it was like a scene from Brigitte Jones' Diary.


Well, you know what they say: "You've got to laugh or you'd cry." And besides, it's good for you! 

Sh*t My Friends Say

Hello campers. It's been a while since I last wrote. But as my Gran used to say: "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."


I've been a miserable beggar recently, and to be honest, communicating more than just the necessary has been beyond me. I finally confided my misery to my dear hubby & now I'm getting some help - both chemical & therapeutic - and I must say I'm feeling heaps better. Phew.


It's exhausting being miserable - and such a waste of time! All those conversations in my head, backwards & forwards between hopelessness & self reprimand. What the hell have I got to be miserable about?! I was certain I could argue my way out of my little black hole, but in the end I had to admit that I couldn't do it alone and ask for some help. Hard.


Anyway, I'm on the mend & learning stuff along the way. All part of the journey. Writing this reminded me of a notepad that my lovely friend & manager Louise gave me back in May, around the time of Therapy's 8th anniversary. She came into the shop when I was covering her lunch and presented it to me. "I saw this & thought of you," she said.


How lovely! The notepad was pale blue with a brightly coloured cartoon of a lady reclining on a chair, holding a cocktail glass & wearing a great pair of lime green wedges. "Nice shoes!" I exclaimed. The writing on the pad read: There's nothing wrong with me that ten years of therapy and a margarita won't cure.


I looked up to see Lou beaming at me. Oh my God, she's trying to tell me that I'm a nutter with a drink problem. I really need to get a handle on my depression. "So do you like it? I know Therapy's only 8 years old next week, but it's close enough."


Bless her, she was thinking about the shop when she gave it to me! Paranoia, it's one of the symptoms I guess.


So I've been feeling progressively better over the last few weeks and have shrugged off some of the sense of detachment that is another symptom. It's a weird sensation & one I'm sure we've all felt at some time. When I was severely depressed many years ago I felt it acutely. It was as if life was going on around me but I was observing everything from under water. Social occasions, even with close friends, were torture. I felt as if I were completely disconnected from everyone and trapped, on my own, in an invisible prison. Most disconcerting!


But I didn't feel that bad this time around. I just didn't feel like going out much, enjoying myself. So I'm delighted with my progress because this weekend we celebrated my bessy friend's birthday. Now, Heidi has moved out of her house opposite our's and gone to Crawley, 40 minutes away on the train. But "don't go there!", as my dear friend Sonya would say. Yes I miss her but nothing stays the same, and nor should it.


So I was determined (and praying) that I would be in celebratory mood for Heidi's big night. And I was. I'd glazed my sculptures, completed 2 of the new season's buying appointments, completed preparations for a Therapy promotion, and, to top it off, my deliciously mad friend Cara was coming to stay - I was in party mood! We drank, we ate, we danced outrageously to all our favourite tunes, and staggered to bed at a suitably debauched 4am. I'd call that a success.


But there's more. On Sunday morning poor Chris was subjected to the strident whoops & cackles of four girlfriends, bejammied and lounging on sofas telling funny stories. Which rather protractedly brings me to the point of my story. I had intended to write some of these said stories, thinking: A - they're too good to keep to myself. And B - I've got nothing to say. Oops, how wrong I was. 


The title of this post refers to a blog & book called Shit Things My Dad Says. I haven't read it, but Cara explained that it's written by a man who had to move back in with his father and it's simply transcriptions of the daft things his dad says. It makes for hilarious reading because the truth is stranger than fiction. So here goes with yesterday's true stories.


Warning: DO NOT EAT OR DRINK WHILE READING. MAY CAUSE CHOKING


Cara's husband Steve, newly returned from a snowboarding holiday & sporting a ski tan, was stuck in a London traffic jam. The traffic was crawling along when the Porsche behind him shunted him in the rear. The slow speed meant that no real damage had been done, but Steve got out of his car to check anyway and tapped on the driver's lowered window. 


The woman inside the car was talking on her mobile phone, seemingly unaware of his presence. He stood waiting until the woman paused in her conversation. "Hang on a minute," she said into the phone and casually turned her head towards him. "F**k off you orange-faced c**t!" she said and resumed her conversation.


Can you believe it?! Poor Steve was struck dumb. And ever since the incident his friends & loved ones have referred to him as the OFC.


Another dear friend (who shall remain anonymous for the sake of her relationship) told us some corkers about things her boyfriend had said:


On one occasion he was coughing and rubbing his throat. "I think I've got something wrong with my fallopian tubes," he said.


On another, he and my friend were driving along a road where a fatal accident had recently occurred. At the side of the road, beneath a small tree, were several bouquets of flowers. My friend solemnly pointed out the tributes to her boyfriend. "Look at the flowers. That's because somebody died there." 
To which he replied: "What, did they fall out of the tree?" 


I'll give you one final one of the many regaled over Sunday coffee & bacon sarnies - this from Cara again.


She was walking around Wimbledon in London one day, looking for an address. Reckoning that this was a nice area and the locals must be friendly, she approached a lady for directions. The woman had obviously noticed her looking lost. So when Cara approached her, she looked up & said: "Fuck off, do I look like a map?!"


Poor Cara, she was so taken aback that she slinked round a corner & had a wee cry. When she phoned her husband to tell him what happened he said: "Well at least you didn't get called an orange faced c**t." 


lol


Okay, so they're not as funny on paper as they were at the time, with the accompanying faces and asides from the listeners. But that's the point really. Real life is funny. It's about the little things as well as the big things. It's about experiences and sharing them with people who love us.


So thank you to my beautiful friends & family who make living worthwhile.
X   

Top Hat

"The weather is fright'ning 
The thunder and lightning 
Seem to be having their way 
But as far as I'm concerned, it's a lovely day 
The turn in the weather 
Will keep us together 
So I can honestly say 
That as far as I'm concerned, it's a lovely day 
And everything's o.k."


Irving Berlin


Have any of you seen Top Hat? It's one of my favourite films - an old black & white movie - a musical starring Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers - heavenly. Not only is the dancing dreamy, the musical score is by Irving Berlin, the sets are elegantly Art Deco and the script is hilarious - perfect for a rainy day.


I first saw this movie as a youngster when every week's TV viewing included at least a few vintage musicals. How sad (for me) that this is no longer the case. Many years later as a 4th year university student I had the joy of watching Top Hat as part of a 20th Century Design course. After 4 years of rather dry studies it seemed like the most enormous treat (and a bit 
of a skive) to be studying this old favourite.


Did you know that in the Venetian Lido scenes they dyed the water black to emphasise the contrast with the white sets? This is all that I remember from my university studies, and utterly meaningless if you've never seen the movie, but - hey - one day it may be on TV and you can impress your fellow viewers with this interesting fact.


The reason I mention Top Hat is that I watched it yesterday. I was feeling decidedly blue - hormones and bad weather getting me down. I forced myself to work in the morning, with the promise of feet up in front of this movie if I completed my tasks. Three Aspro Clear, a hot water bottle & a wee white wine and I was happily ensconced on the sofa - singing along and laughing heartily - bliss.


The week has been a bit flat after the extended & spectacular Jubilee celebrations. Not only were we all partied out but the weather disintegrated into cold, wet & windy - yuck. I know, I know, I'm Scottish & should be hardened against such meteorological melodramas, but I'm not. Perhaps I could get treatment? Hypnotherapy? Electric shock therapy? Anything to lift my mood when the clouds descend. Perhaps some cheery photos of Petworth's festivities?

   

Our street party was a roaring success with 800 locals in attendance & sunshine throughout the day - miraculous! The mad woman with the hoover was part of a husband & wife team of street entertainers. She spent a good hour stopping the cars for minutes on end while she hoovered the road in front of them - too funny. 


I know not everyone will agree, but I found the Queen's Diamond Jubilee celebrations hugely uplifting & a blessed relief from all the doom & gloom of the "double dip recession". Double dip recession - what about the bloody double dip winter?! A week or so ago Chris Evans remarked on his Radio Two breakfast show that it was only 24 days until the nights started drawing in - I could have thrown myself on the carpet & wept. The only thing stopping me were my newly washed black trousers!


Now I know I told you last time that I was starting a self portrait in clay. I've finished it now - or at least I got bored and stopped. In some ways it was as straight forward to do as Chris's head and in others it was hugely difficult. I took all the relevant measurements and got the basics in place. But the details were hard to capture because I didn't have my own head in front of me - to view from all angles. Yes I'd got Chris to take photos but they're still two dimensional, and looking in a mirror didn't help because everything is in reverse - very confusing for the brain!


The other problem is that I don't really know what I look like - for the reasons above. Chris tells me that it does look like me. I guess I have to take his word for it. I should have taken some photos when the clay was still damp. When it starts to dry out it goes patchy & pale - difficult to picture as skin. But like I said, I got bored & distracted by the shop, and by the time I remembered to take photos it was too late.


I've a feeling she might crack up...in the kiln that is. Mm, maybe it's a more accurate self portrait than I thought. It's entirely my fault. You see I was in a hurry to dry her out, wanting to get her fired by the end of the month when I've got a glazing course & will be doing Chris's head. Chris told me to let her dry out downstairs where it's cool. But oh no, I knew best - impatient like. So I bared her to the heat of the conservatory & now she's cracked. Cracked in the head, that's me.


Anyway, I'll let you see her so far:

Is that really what I look like? I look like I could use some lippy for a start! To be honest I was a bit scunnered after I finished her. I reckoned I could do with a break from all this realism and try a bit of an abstract figurative piece, just for fun. But I developed an overwhelming ennui and just couldn't muster the energy. Oh I am so fickle! 

This is me. I found this card in Selfridges when I was buying a Scorpio one for Lou. It made me laugh so much that I framed it...it's so true!
Laura x

Flags & Roses

Ah, blue skies & soaring temperatures - the last ten days' heatwave has come as a blessed relief after the six weeks of constant rain. Of course, as I write, the Jubilee weekend forecast is for more rain - here in the South at least. But I'm sure we'll make the most of things with our usual British aplomb.


I'm guessing that my fellow countrymen in Scotland will be more reticent with their Jubilee celebrations than we are down here, only an hour south of London. But I'm glad to be in the thick of it. Petworth is aflutter with flags & bunting galore and everyone is in a festive mood. What's wrong with that? With so much doom and gloom in the news, it's good to have a reason to party. And whether you believe in the Monarchy or not, there's no denying that our Queen has done her duty with grace, dignity & intelligence for all 60 years of her reign. Queenie - you go girl! 

My latest Creation

April showers? That's an understatement! I know we need the rain, but this is excessive. Still, while the storms are rubbish for business they have meant that my last week's sculpture course could be enjoyed guilt free.

Following on from my first foray into sculpting after twenty years, last November, I was keen to explore further. I duly enrolled in a second course with the lovely tutor I had worked with previously. Sculpting The Head - an Anatomical Approach. Fun! Despite my years as a sculpture student, I had studiously avoided heads. More interested in the body...by the time I reached the head I had lost interest...okay, I was too scared to ruin what I'd already created with a dodgy fizog. So, a challenge!

I decided that it would be a good idea to sculpt Chris - my theory being that if it wasn't very good after 3 days at college then I could continue at home & hopefully improve, with my model at hand (or should that be head?) And if I was going to tackle a head then I ought to know how they were put together - hence the anatomy. Now I'm a conscientious student and took the time before my class to study the skeleton & musculature of the human head - no easy feat (mainly due to the tedium, which had me nodding off frequently). I also had the help of a wonderful book written by Edouard Lanteri, who taught Rodin, no less. The instructions were comprehensive, the latin names incomprehensible, and the photographs of his own work dauntingly impressive. No pressure then!

By the evening of our first tutorial I had nearly persuaded myself that I wasn't going - especially after the emotional roller coaster of my last class. But, armed with a huge bottle of Rescue Remedy and the thought of £300 wasted, I plunged in...and relaxed.

The first day was spent without live models. Instead we each had a polystyrene skull to copy. Armed with callipers we measured & moulded the clay - a class full of silent Shakespearean actors. Alas poor Yorick. By home time we had added muscles to the bone to create grotesque flayed heads - nice!

The second day dawned - nervous again. How will Chris fit into this intensely studious atmosphere? How do I feel about sharing my precious creative space? How will I do justice in clay to the man I love? Argh! Oh get over yourself Laura. Deep breath, more Rescue Remedy, relax. And we did. The atmosphere with models in place changed completely. Now we students shared a common goal. And with Chris in the room, curious & unafraid & enthusiastic, soon we were all talking and sharing our aims and fears and the story of our lives.

One model between 9 students placed in the centre of the room is harder to work from than one to myself. I felt lucky to have mine so close at hand, and lucky to have one I know so well. As I poked and prodded, shoved callipers up his nose & twirled him around on his chair, Chris sat patiently enjoying the new environment & chatting away happily.

Instead of being scared I was elated. The feel of the clay in my hands, with measurements to guide me and familiar features to capture, I was in my element. And after two days of concentration & several delicious free lunches, I was beginning to see my hubby's head appear before me.

So far so good. Getting the head home was the next trick. Most of the students had opted to leave their pieces for firing in the college kiln. This involved the scary process of removing the top of the head, lifting it off the armature & hollowing out, then sticking the head back with clay slip - like a Victoria sponge - very nerve wracking. I paid attention & then packed my sculpture into a discarded computer box & took it home.


Three days later I decided that it was time to operate. It took several hours of prevarication, another half bottle of Rescue Remedy and a kick in the pants from Chris before I plucked up the courage to act. With my hubby's practical brain & brute strength we executed the decisive move. If the clay was still too soft it might collapse, too hard and it might be impossible to hollow. Argh!


Success, of a sort. In order to fire without distortion, the sculpture should be evenly hollowed throughout. My hollowing was more nursery school than Ming vase - oops. Too late now. Ah but that's kind of the appeal of clay. It is the most amenable of mediums to work in - allowing you to squish & smooth, thwack & contort, carve & scrape. But until it is fired it is fragile and, fired wrongly, it's toast. A lesson in the impermanence of everything, me thinks.


Chris, my greatest champion, has decided that I should forge a new career in portrait commissions. Me, I'm a little more circumspect...okay, scared. I loved the experience, loved the challenge of capturing a likeness, working the clay within more formal parameters. But maybe it was a fluke? Can I do it again?


Well I'm going to try. The college don't recycle their used clay. So, being Scottish, I decided that I would. I now have bags of it at home. I've added water and done a fair bit of squidging, ready to use once more. And my next project is going to be a self portrait. Again, having my head at hand should be an advantage. Not being able to see it in front of me will be challenging, but I can feel it, use photographs and look in the mirror (remembering to reverse whatever I see). I'll keep you posted.


Wish me luck!      

Therapy

Ah, the first day of British summertime...and the sun is actually shining. Not only that - it is shining in Scotland! I know because I've been studying the forecast - on my way, as I am, for  a 4 day visit to my homeland tomorrow. I can't wait to see Max, and my darling Grandma, as well as all my favourite friends & relations. Therapy indeed.


But it is Therapy that has kept me from them since my last trip in early December. For while I may have been trying to hibernate (and indeed feel as if my brain has atrophied) I've actually been hard at work making sure that our wee shop is in tip top shape for the year.


If you didn't know me & read my blog you'd be forgiven for thinking that all I do is sit around & contemplate my navel. In reality I'm a shopkeeper, a fashion buyer, a "Company Director" no less! But I still feel like a wee lassie playing at shops. Which is probably why I never mention what I do for a living. Well, can you blame me for not dwelling on my full time job? Choosing pretty things; making our wee shop look inviting; selling clothes to lovely customers - it hardly counts as work.


Therapy is what it is - for me, and hopefully for the ladies who visit our little emporium. Eight years ago when Chris & I were planning our new business in Petworth, we couldn't decide on a name for the shop. So Chris asked me what I wanted it to be. "Somewhere relaxing & inviting, where ladies can browse, with nice music & a warm welcome, where they can have a good time whether they spend money or not - a bit of therapy". And so our business was born.


And it was therapy for me too. To be in a new place, far from home & family, knowing only a handful of people, my mum recently dead after a long illness, could have been stressful. And instead the shop healed me. I was in my element. I poured my energies into creating a haven for myself as much as for my customers. And the wonderful women who have shared their time & life stories (and money - thank you very much!) have enriched my life.


Fashion is fun, shopkeeping isn't brain surgery. Doing what I do, I have no reason to be stressed. Not that that's stopped me. But now I realise that any stress I've had has been self inflicted. Not content with our one perfect shop, we tried expanding - a shoe shop, a children's shop, a frock shop - spreading ourselves and our finances too thin. I see now that I was driven by my inner demons - a desire to escape the pain and turmoil that still existed in my personal life, a need to prove myself, to drown out the critics in my head.


Having come full circle, back to our one original shop, I am once again able to focus on the elements that inspired me all those years ago. Through my navel gazing I have come to understand that we all have our dharma - a path that we must follow in order to uphold good and find our individual salvation. For most of my life I'd imagined that my dharma would be something noble, something more...oh Laura...


But now I have come to understand that shopkeeping is what I do best. While I might still harbour dreams of being Mother Theresa, or berate myself for not being Michelangelo, I can accept that my small contribution to a happier life (for me & for my lovely customers) is good enough. Selecting beautiful colours & fabrics, finding the perfect linen skirt or yummy cashmere sweater - making my customers smile - is good enough. And I have a nice time too.     

Today is Good Friday. The weather has reverted to winter (not so good for business, but nothing I can do about that). I will sit in my little shop & smile and chat to anyone who ventures in - offering chocolate eggs & words of advice, making sure that everyone leaves with a smile, if not with a carrier bag, hopeful that they will return.


My trip to Scotland was a triumph. The weather continued warm & sunny, allowing me to sit outside with Max and with my darling Grandma. Despite her failing memory, we sat in peace together and I told her over and over how much I love her. Not knowing who I was made no difference - she smiled and thanked me for my love. And I in turn found peace and acceptance in her aged situation. At one point, thinking her asleep, I touched her arm. Without moving she spoke:


"I'm not sleeping - just being still."


A lesson indeed.


More lessons followed as Max & I sat in the sunshine and shared our individual demons. As we watched the sun set over Edinburgh from Holyrood Park, we agreed to let go of past pain and allowed room for the good memories to surface. I felt healed.


It has taken a long time - a decade - but time is a great healer - or at least it can be if we are willing to learn, to understand, to forgive - ourselves as well as each other.


It is now more than 8 years since we found the old butchers shop that is now our Therapy emporium, nearly 9 years since mum died. My last meal in Scotland was with my Step Dad, Tom. We met in my favourite restaurant, on the shores of the River Forth, with views of my favourite edifice - the Forth Rail Bridge. As the sun glinted on red, we laughed and reminisced in the company of his delightful companion Violet (aka Morag). To see him happy and relaxed after the pain we had shared after Mum's death, filled me with joy. Time is indeed a great healer.


Amen.

A Nice Pair

Right, that's it! I am fed up with being miserable & ill for no reason whatsoever! Still recovering from the flu, I came down with a cold. You know the kind - a thick head, oceans of phlegm, talking like a teenager with an adenoid problem - nice.


Chris says he still loves me. "What, even though I'm a snotty troll?" "Yes, even though you're a snotty trollop." Okay, it's close enough.


Several sleepless nights, woken from dreams by a torrential left nostril, have left me crotchety and tired with a cough like an eighty year old chain smoker - yuck. I can't sing, I haven't been laughing nearly enough - time for action.


Since the sun is shining, I decide to focus my attention outwards - a bit of mindful meditation on nature - that should get me out of this introverted grump. 


As morning steals across Petworth town centre, the birds come out to play. Our town stalwarts the Jackdaws flap & parp from rooftop to chimney, gossiping together before taking off in search of sustenance. (They reconvene in the evening, I swear to settle down with a cuppa in front of Coronation Street.) 


Starlings, oily, shimmering, march stiffly up and down the church roof, like Private Jones from Dads Army. Pied Wagtails hop with furious staccato movements - monochromatic clockwork toys which never wind down. Wood Pigeons cuddle & coo - united, united, united (listen out for them). I don't have to look far for inspiration.


Three days ago we were treated to a spectacular sight. Hovering directly above the town centre were two pairs of Buzzards. About 500 feet above the ground, they wheeled & swooped, riding the thermals. Suddenly one of them dived. Folding it's wings tight into it's sides, it plunged towards the earth & into the trees below. Who knows which poor rodent was forced to meet his maker, the Buzzard didn't reappear.


The remaining three Buzzards continued to circle directly over our heads. Suddenly a squadron of Jackdaws hove into view, swiping, diving, driving them off course. It was like an avian version of The Battle Of Britain, the similarity accentuated as Chris loudly hummed the theme tune. Spectacular.


As we sat for the first time this Spring, revelling in the warmth of the sun & delighting in the views from our roof terrace, the Buzzards returned. I gazed skyward, trying to spot these graceful birds of prey. 


"I can't see them."


"They're definitely up there. I can hear their cries, they're very distinctive."


"Oh, what do they sound like?"


Chris paused, frowned in thought... "Urrgg-uurrr-urgh, but higher pitched." The noises accompanied by a special beak face (of course).


"Sorry, can you do the noise again."


"Urgh-uuurrr-urgh." This time with Owl-like facial movements that suggest he is about to regurgitate a pellet of bones & fur.


By this time I'm convulsed with laughter. I swear, living with Chris is akin to spending all day in a surround sound cinema. The fact that his hair was standing on end, forming a birdlike quiff, just added to the Buzzard impression.


Sure enough though, above us soared a pair of fine birds of prey - drawn, no doubt, by Chris's uncanny impression.


When the sun ceased to shine on the roof terrace, I retreated indoors to fiddle about with my wee clay torso. Let me tell you what I'm up to: This sculpture was created with the help of a book. The author shows step by step how to form the foundation of a figure by using blocks & balls to create the main skeletal areas such as the pelvis & ribcage. It looks simple, but I was behaving like a stroppy school girl when I started it. My ego was a bit put out at the prospect of what it saw as "sculpting by numbers". "


"Och, I've got an MA in Fine Art - I know what I'm doing. I won't bother getting my proportions right or angling my blocks, getting the dimensions correct. Nah, I'll just slap the clay about & see what happens". Well I'll tell you what happens - you spend hours trying to correct the basics when you've already spent an age working on the surface detail. Pants.


Serves me right. But I'll tell you, I learnt a lot from that. I learnt a lot from the book, however grudgingly. Working with the basic building blocks is helping me to understand the anatomy of the human body. The more I know, the less work it is to arrive at a good foundation from which to express myself. Simples.


So I'm happily sculpting, trying out my new tools, and I see a flickering black blob in my peripheral vision. Impatiently I brush it away - a fly enjoying the sunshine, just like me.


Later that evening Heidi came to call. As we chatted on the sofa she paused. "There's something moving in your hair." Reaching out she plucked a small spider from my head. The same intruder that had distracted me from my sculpting. This arachnid tourist had been seeing the sights from the top of my head for the last five hours! I reckon he had hitched a lift while I was rootling around behind the television earlier (don't ask).


Now I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to spiders, or any creepy crawlies. I don't wish them any harm - just don't do your crawling on me. But, as my mum always said, what you don't know can't hurt you. A spider living in my hair? I didn't know it was, so I didn't care. Mind you, it was a little one. I can't say I'd have been so sanguine if it had been a Tarantula. 


Not satisfied with being removed, my new best friend proceeded to work his way back up the sofa and attempt once more to cadge a lift on my head. What is so attractive about my hair? Heidi reckoned that he was trying to get back behind the telly.


The next day Chris & I were in our turret. Craning his neck to peer into a hole in the window frame, Chris started to exclaim. "Oh, it's gone. He got it!" What is he talking about? "The fly, it's gone. There was a wee spider in his web earlier & a humungous fly flew into it. It was wrestling to escape but the spider started circling it with his fangs out, waiting to paralyse it with poison. It must have got it & dragged it down into his hole."


OH MY GOD!


What if it was my travelling companion? He must have been starving after his round-the-house trip. Yes, but he wouldn't eat me...would he? I pondered the gory scenario. Eugh!


Ah but he didn't - a prescient reminder to me of this eternal moment of Now. And so I'd say my mindfulness meditation was a success and a failure. 


Focusing my attention outward on the world around me made me forget my introspective imaginings and left space for creativity. 


But I had a spider in my hair for five hours and I didn't even notice it. 


Not very bloody mindful!