‘The sound or the music which corduroy trousers make when one moves’ – Marcel Duchamp

‘Everything we do is music’ – John Cage

New project, which I have no idea what I’ll do for (worrying, given that it really counts). But I seem to be in a sound sorta mood, partly because the radio-stuff-that-refuses-to-ever-happen could be good and…yeah. Stuck on that still, will be til it actually happens I guess. I miss the pair of corduroy trousers I had years and years ago, and they do make a nice noise, kinda like rubbing the heels of DM boots together. Anyway.

‘The rise of the everyday in contemporary art is usually understood in terms of a desire to bring uneventful and overlooked aspects of lived experience into visibility.’  Stephen Johnstone,  Recent Art and the Everyday- 2008

Stephen Johnstone suggests a variety of positions taken by artists in relation to the everyday:

Valuing the dignity of ordinary behavior.

Unveiling the accidentally miraculous.

Making work with the unassuming ease of the amateur photographer.

An ethnographical aesthetic, venturing out and happening across something interesting.

A distrust of the heroic and the spectacular.

A confrontation with the bureaucracy of controlled consumption.

A loss of guilt before popular culture and its pleasures.

Banality; what happens when nothing happens.

A desire to give voice to those silenced by dominant discourses and ideologies.

To explore and think about your own position, you are asked to blur the boundary between an ordinary activity and art and use this experience to make a work. This ordinary activity could be: opening a door, brushing your teeth, eating breakfast, watching television, blinking, breathing etc etc. You may have starting points from previous work, or this may be something entirely new.

Choose an activity that is overly familiar to you. We would like you to research and document your activity fully through drawing, photography, video, sound, and then develop and present an aspect of your thoughts as a work in a public space. How do you disseminate what you have found in a site that can be seen by many: You Tube? Radio? Carlton Hill? Using the mail? Anywhere… but your work can’t be discussed until it is in the public domain and you have to decide where makes most sense for your work to be experienced.

I really can’t think at the moment, so no bright ideas. At all. Might have something to do with being awake far too long again.

On the plus side essay is…progressing, albeit in a slow way. We braved the scary library (or I think it’s scary, because it’s huge) and my arms/back hurt from the amount of books I’ve been carrying about (my own fault though).

A week of reading and I have fifty two words in total, which could be better. It’s going to link quite nicely with studio work though – if I do sound I’m planning on writing about Cage anyway (because he’s sweet), and if not then all the other Fluxus stuff is bound to be at least slightly relevant, maybe happenings more than anything. I’m up to my ears in Kaprow at the moment, so possibly understandable. In other exciting news I’ve swapped surrealism for cubism, I found a lot of essays on Picasso which might link with some other stuff. That’s the end of the excitement though…there’s been much drinking (possibly in an attempt to make up for last semester), and I really can’t hold beer very well. I get silly. I found it amusing that I got asked for ID buying cider (which was drinkable because it tasted of mango instead of cider), but not whisky.

Repairing the foreshore

This is a ferry that I have travelled on all my life, in fact I travelled this even before I was born…..in my mother’s womb !  I like it so much that I bought a metre of the chain to add to the cornucopia of quirky things that I have collected on my walks over the years and that now adorn my garden.  Why only a metre?  Well, it is heavy and it took two of us to lift just that length into the car!  The chains are each 1,235 feet long and are replaced every 15 to 18 months because they stretch and wear out – so I have a very small piece of history in my garden !

Getting off the ferry is like entering another world, we leave one side inhabited by man and land on the other side inhabited by nature.  Suddenly we are transported from some of the most expensive real estate in the world into the wide open spaces with three miles of the most broad, clean, sandy beaches you could wish to find!

Wide open spaces

Flanked by the most delightful sand dunes and beyond that, acres of heather clad heathland – entering this world, you just revel in the sense of freedom and with the bracing wind blowing off the sea, you can just feel yourself coming alive!  No matter how many times I walk this beach, I never lose that wonderful sense of freedom………and I never run out of new photos to take!

The beauty of the sand dunes

On this day the wind was strong and the waves rolled relentlessly to the shore, one after the other without losing any momentum.  As one finally dissipates its energy onto the beach, another three pile in behind it, like some perpetual motion machine.  Standing on the shore, you get some sense of what King Canute must have felt!  And that great Iona song, ‘Wave After Wave’ comes to mind.

Three in a row

Even with their relentless and unceasing power, the waves do not have it all their own way as the wind seemingly does battle with them, whipping the tops off as they break.  What an amazing sight and one that a photo can never do justice to.  As we stand watching the dancing waves and flitting spray carrying out their performance, it is like watching a well choreographed stage show, only so much better!  Ah the wonders of God’s creation completely outdoes the best that man can offer!

Whipping the wave tops

Even the clouds seem to join in as they hover like giant airships!  As we watch them, we can’t help but let our imaginations run free and wonder what it would be like to stand on top and see the world from their perspective.

A hovering airship!

This beach is not only a walker’s paradise but it is a horse rider’s paradise too as the local stables offer beach rides in the winter months.  The picture below just typifies freedom to me.

Freedom

But it is time for us to leave this captivating scene and head on with our walk.  Passing through a delightful village, we cross the graveyard that surrounds the beautiful Norman church and it is alive with snowdrops – a timely reminder that spring, and new birth, is not too far away.

Snowdrops in the churchyard

And then beyond the village we are met with a stiff climb that takes us up onto a ridge of hills and once again we are met with that same bracing wind that has us reaching for our gloves again.  From here we have amazing views back across the village and beyond we can see almost the whole of the four miles we have walked so far.  In the summer, these hills are rife with skylarks rising high above but today, it is a bird of a very different kind that sings overhead!

What a view

With a thunderous roar, like a giant bird coming out of the sun, the Chinook appears…..and it will accompany us for some time.  This is a military machine on manoevers, landing on the headland and hovering over the water by turns, depositing and picking up troops on a training exercise.  With precision timing, it is another, if different, spectacle to behold.  As much as I love the solitude and silence of the countryside, these helicopters make an awesome sight with their massive power and yet incredible manoeuvrability - to quote Cassius Clay, they ‘float like a butterfly and sting like a bee’!

A bird of a different kind

With the Chinook following us, we continue on our way round the famous landmark that is Old Harry Rocks with its strong tidal race curving around the headland.  A few years ago I kayaked round these stacks which was easy and great fun on the way out but somewhat more difficult on the way back, fighting a fast flowing tide.  By the time I reached the safety of the beach, my arms felt like lead but it was great to see this chalk headland from a different viewpoint.

Old Harry Rocks

Having stopped off to enjoy a flask of hot Bovril at the top of the chalk cliffs in the one sheltered spot that was available, we continue along the track that leads back to the beach as for the last three miles, we would be retracing our steps from earlier in the day.  By now the tide had gone out, revealing another of those quirky things that litter this coast.

This is The Training Bank, a man made reef of rocks laid to help maintain the deep water channel through the entrance to Poole Harbour by directing the tidal flow.  This is only visible at low tide and it makes an interesting spectacle stretching out across the bay towards Old Harry Rocks.

The Training Bank

One of the amazing things about The Training Bank is the beautiful red seaweed which clothes all of the rocks.

Red seaweed

I love walking the beach as the sun sets.  Apart from the wonderful peace, the soft evening light and low tide just seem to bring out the most beautiful patterns in the sand.  It is a sight that I can never resist photographing!

Patterns in the sand

As we near the end of the walk, we have to cross several streams that are watersheds from the heathland.  These are normally shallow and no bother to cross but with the rain that we have had in recent times, they were somewhat deeper than normal and the result of this is………wet feet!  Ah well, I normally manage to get wet feet anyway as I am usually so busy taking pictures at the water’s edge that I don’t notice the incoming tide reaching out to grab me by the ankles !  Reflecting the post sunset glow in the sky, these little streams do make picturesque subjects for the camera !

Watershed wonder

And of course, the dunes with their Marram Grass also provide some photographic fodder !

Sunset in the dunes

And so finally after a fantastic day along the Dorset coast we reach the ferry again.  Now that the sun has gone, the temperature dips to below freezing so the little bit of protection that the ferry provides is welcome.  And we take the ride back across the harbour entrance with just the last remaining glow in the sky.  What a great day!

A twilight journey back

Thanks for joining me on this walk – I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Be blessed!

Thanks for stopping by and reading the ramblings of The Dorset Rambler.

Until next time,
Your friend
The Dorset Rambler.

If you would like to contact me, my details are on my website which is http://www.yarrowphotography.com – comments and feedback are welcomed.

All photographs, poems and words in this blog are the copyright of The Dorset Rambler and must not be reproduced without permission.

There’s not a whole lot to write… Crit-that-wasn’t-really was alright, it’s hard to talk/explain when it’s already been…explained and I’d just be repeating and I don’t like doing that. Managed not to get lost in the ECA library though…and I managed to not clear out the little fluxus section. Yet to brave the scary-huge-real library, even though the most useful looking books are there. Tomorrow…or the day after…some point. In the future. Not really read much, even though that was my (not so) cunning plan for today – I’m closer to finishing The Dynamics of Creation though, a year and a half after buying the silly thing. Hopefully (theoretically) I’ll have started essay writing by the end of the week, that’s a very very optimistic plan.

I have a new plan for research (really peaked too soon – last essay had nice, feasible, research, this is far far harder), and it’ll keep me happy/amused. It might help if I put the essay question in, so it makes some sense.

Well listen
Well the modern world is not so bad
Not like the students say
In fact I’d be in heaven
If you’d share the modern world with me
With me in love with the U.S.A now
With me in love with the modern world now
Put down the cigarette
And share the modern world with me
- Jonathan Richman & the Modern Lovers

Was the modern world ‘not so bad’? Discuss in relation to two modernist art movements of the early twentieth century.

It starts with a song, and I like putting interesting things into essays – can you see where I’m going yet? I’m going to attempt to get as many lyrics in as possible, without it being forced, which is probably harder than it sounds. And a few years ago (in the odd five minutes when I thought doing an economics degree might be interesting) there was an essay competition that I never did, the title I liked was War. What is it good for? True fact. I’m going to find some relevant people to ask though, and make a little playlist to go alongside the essay. Nothing really to do with anything (well, sorta is) and definitely more for my amusement than anything else. But then most of the essay was just for fun too. Evidently works. Starts here…

I’m yet to make any actual progress on y’know…writing the essay. I’ve got a semi-useable bibliography/reference list and an appendix, which is something. My vague bits of argument are now even more vague. I need to reread all my notes I think. And colour code. That always helps. If I’m feeling really optimistic (pah!) I might start a paragraph, blank pages are scary again which isn’t good.

And now there’s just a lot of pictures. Mostly of drinks. Good coffee (and also some very tiny spoons) – and pens my mum sent me.

And then onto gin (or cider, if you’re strange like Steph). Managed to take up quite a big table between the two of us.

I started today with tea and disputing Freud. Always a good start to a day…

Wall is looking incredibly sad at the moment, everything has been stuffed in the back of my sketchbook to be dealt with when I need to avoid essay writing. That sign is the best thing I’ve ever got through the post. Or the best that I can remember. Trouble is I haven’t worn my lab coat for a while. And I did buy more tea, just for my desk. There’s now a choice of three.

Reblogged from THE MAN THAT WAS USED UP:

Music, is something we can all relate to, there’s the songs that remind us of good times, the songs that remind us of the bad times and songs we feel indifferent about. Like most things, it’s good that we all have different music tastes and there is plenty out there for us to listen to.

For example, I have music I listen to when writing essays, music when I’m feeling a bit sad, music when I’m happy, music when I’m going out and music when I’m reminiscing  There is enough music out there to cover every single mood life throws at us.

This brings me on to a conversation I recently had with friends about songs we will have played at our funerals. It is standard to have two songs, and I can’t think of a song I wish to be carried in to at the moment. I have however made a firm decision about the song I wish to be carried out to (a bit morbid you may think). But this song, to me, is perfectly fitting, the lyrics some up everything I would love to say as my last goodbye. Ironically the song is Goodbye, by the Spice Girls. I will post a video at the end of the post, but the lyrics that I feel fit so well are below:

Look for the rainbow in every storm,
Fly like an angel heaven sent to me
Goodbye my friend,
(I know your going searching although I can still feel ya here)
It’s not the end,
(You gotta keep it strong before the pains turn into fears)

So yeah, that’s been my thought and discussion with friends this week. Here’s the video

I look at other women in relationships at marvel at their confidence. How do you people do it? Here is this person that you are putting all of your love, hope for the future, and trust in, and at any minute they could just up and decide “Well, thanks. That was fun. See you later.” 

Maybe I’ve been scarred by one too many bad relationships.

Mooney seemed like everything was fine. He’d go through quiet, distant patches where he would suddenly refuse intimacy or would just sit silently staring into space, but for the most part it was all systems go. Then over the course of a weekend everything went from fine to over. I’d seen him the night of my sister’s baby shower. We’d had amazing, incredibly intimate sex. And then the next day he didn’t respond to my text messages. And by the following day I knew it was over before he even knocked on my door. I wanted to think I was just being paranoid. He had sent me a text saying what time he would be here. And as I watched the time tick by I started to panic and I prayed wildly that my instincts were wrong. 

And when I opened the door he didn’t smile. When he kissed me there was no passion. And when I first asked him what was wrong he didn’t answer. He just walked down the hallway past my kitchenette and sat down on my bed. The whole time not making eye contact with me. 

I asked him again, “What’s bothering you?”

He stared for a second at the wall across from him, clearly gathering his courage. “Someone has come back into my life.” 

That was all he needed to say. I was instantly furious. It had been nearly a year. I was desperately in love with him. I NEEDED to love him. I needed him to be the one so I wouldn’t have to go slogging back into the uncertainty of the dating world. And for all the time, patience, and effort I’d put into the relationship, all it took was “someone” coming back into his life for him to break camp and cut. 

I have never been so deeply angry and genuinely enraged as I was in that moment. I expected to be shrill. Instead my voice dropped. It seemed to be coming from my chest, my gut, everywhere the pain and hurt and anger was coming from. I was nearly growling. I couldn’t get in a deep enough breath. My words came out in short, raspy, gasps. “How could you do this to me, you son of a bitch? Get out. I never want to see you again!” 

I was throwing things at him. The litter of the little gifts that are accumulated through a relationship. Books, video games, anything I could get my hands on. I remember saying something about honor. 

“How could you kiss me? How could you still come through this door and kiss me?” 

“Because I still care about you, ba-” 

“Don’t you DARE call me ‘Baby.’ I am NOT your ‘Baby.’” 

I slammed the door in his face so hard it knocked the lock out of alignment. 

It could go back even farther to the Singer. He doesn’t even qualify as an actual relationship. Just a poorly advised fling was all it really was. Every red flag my mind could wave started flying the minute I met him. But he had such blue eyes. And broad shoulders. And so God damned much confidence. He knew every single button to push with me and I fell for it hook, line and sinker. 

I saw him often, but it was always last minute requests. He lied, frequently. And he always made plans with me at the last minute. And always seemed to have “misplaced” his wallet. In a few months I paid for so many outings it was sickening. Magic Mountain, Disneyland trips (we were both annual pass holders, so it’s not AS bad as it sounds), day trips to San Diego… then there were emergency funds and bills he couldn’t pay. I was ready to do whatever he needed. And he constantly snuck around behind my back. Not committing, but not being willing to talk about what was really going on so I could make an informed decision about what was best for me either. I tried to leave so many times, and every time he managed to suck me back in.

Until one night, I knew he was out and I knew he was just keeping me on the hook as an easy mark. A quick release if he couldn’t find someone else to go home with for the night and an open pocket he could dive into for easy cash. It had been a rough week, he was starting to pull out of the situation because he recognized he was going to push me too far. And I wasn’t going to let him get off that easy. 

At one of the lowest points in my bad men induced paranoia I decided to do some investigating. I knew his local watering holes. I knew which ones he went to on what nights. And I knew their closing times. Friday night came around and I had tried to just sleep through it. I tried to tell myself I didn’t NEED to prove it. I knew damn well he was screwing me over and slinking around. But 1 AM came around and I was wide awake. 

I put on my black pants. And black shoes. And a black jacket. And a black hat. And got in my…white Ford Focus… I never said this was a well thought out plan. 

First I did a drive by past the bar I knew he would be at, just to double check his car was there. Check.

Then I drove to his apartment, which was conveniently situated right across a small, residential street from a popular, local restaurant. I parked far back in the lot and waited and watched for his car. Usually, he parked on the street. But that night I saw him drive up, past the street, and into the rear parking lot.

Now it was getting intense. I would have to get closer to see if he walked in the house with someone else from the back path. 

I got out of my car and tried to avoid standing in the glow of any of the street lights, staying close to the other cars. 

At first he seemed to be walking up the path alone. 

And then I saw her. Long black hair, walking slightly behind him, holding his hand. 

Fury, vindication, validation, and relief washed over me. At least I wasn’t imagining it.

I went back to my car and sat behind the wheel for a moment, breathing deeply and trying to think of what to do next. 

Do I knock on the door? Do I call him? Do I try to peek through the windows at what they’re doing? 

I sent him a text and got the fuck out of there. 

I wish I could say that was the end of the story, but it really took another few weeks for me to finally get out of his spell and start to feel better. For months, though, every time I saw a white car like his I went into a panic. Imagine my stress on the LA freeways. 

Those are just two examples of how my love life and bad decisions in men have come whipping around and bitten me in the ass. I could trace it back for years. The most recent bad decision who raped me on the first date and I stayed with for 3 months to convince myself it wasn’t REALLY rape if I started a relationship. The very first one who lied so often and so transparently nobody could believe I stuck around as long as I did. 

The good Doctor knows the surface of what hell I’ve been through with relationships. I’ve tried to explain the full depth of it, but I can’t blame him for not wanting to have to listen to the full list of men who have come before him and made my mind such fertile ground for paranoia and abandonment issues. It hurts him to know how badly I’ve been treated in the past. 

He once told me, “You’re not supposed to go from one bad relationship to another. People usually have one bad relationship, get it out of their system, and move on to better partners.” 

He teases me that he should go and thank each and every one of those assholes for making his job so easy. 

I wish he would go back and punch each and every one of them in the face. 

Personally, I just want to stand in the middle of a room and scream, “What’s wrong with me? Why do they beat up on me? Why did they treat me badly? Why didn’t anyone love me enough to stick around?” 

Doctor Cuddles has stayed for a full year and every day gains another step along the path. He hasn’t lied to me. He hasn’t hurt me. He hasn’t mistreated me. He has been patient through my ups and downs. He’s stood by me through one of the most difficult times in my life with patience, understanding, and support. Bless his heart, he has yet to fuck up or give up. And I need to get my head on straight and stop waiting for him to do one or the other. It’s not fair to him. While I may think I’m protecting myself from some future hurt that may or may not come, all I’m really doing is hurting my ability to enjoy what I have now. 

OK,
So I said lets see other people
BIG mistake!

Days without us caused my passion for you
re-awake

Your consistence
Your calm
Your tone

I want back my perfect world of
monochrome
!!!

An Apology:

I got on my blog today and realized how much I missed my feet! … well maybe not my feet exactly! I missed the feeling I got each time I got on my blog and hit the “Home” button-A sort of equable calm. I would step into the world of Black and White, and there waiting for me would be clarity and inspiration (…most times). 

As the new year commenced, in the bid for adventure I thought perhaps “F.K” could do with some pizazz, something new, something fresh (Honey I love you but we should probably start seeing other people ) – So in search for new Chi I  fornicated  with color on my wall and boy did I regret it! It only brought me absolute chaos :| … I found no inspiration, only a mind full of fluctuation and discord.

Its amazing how people get to know a little more about themselves by odd encounters such as this. I for one have come to identify with my love for the mundane… Call me  weird and boring but that’s me…  When I think about it, it only confirms my self poem “Expressing me“- If I had to give color to the image I drew of myself in that piece it definitely would have a deem touch to it,.. but hey! I’m cool with that..

The ex-new look, which I actually was fond of, only represented the name “Festival King” but not the personality. My title is one of celebration and yes, perhaps color and excitement, yet I view life in free flowing black and white and the many shades of grey- Stripping away all the junctions and distraction to create raw form.

This is my official apology to “Me” and my world of monochrome (I’m sorry honey, I want back!!! )… And so in closing, please join me as I raise my glass to the simple, as I celebrate homogeneity and the mundane… as I celebrate FESTIVAL KING

in

Hello one and all,

I’m slowly but surely getting more views on a daily basis, something I never expected…  I’m going to try and blog more regularly. There will always be a new post on a Sunday, but if I have something to say, or the chance, before then I will get something up. I’ve invested in a new notebook to take everywhere with me so I can jot down ideas for new blog posts and even draft them – so if I’m out I don’t forget my thoughts.
Pleasantries and updates out of the way, I’ll go back to the aim of this post. We’ve all got that one ‘what if’ person … haven’t we? That one person we always think, ‘what if we’d kissed?’, ‘what if we’d got together?’ I’ve mentioned before that I think everything happens for a reason, but it doesn’t stop me thinking what if I’d gone about that differently. What if I had seized that moment when it was there. Evidently we sometimes imagine these moments, but other times they do actually happen.

So far, I have two firm ‘what if’s’, one of them is the source of much annoyance and conflict when I mention him to friends, the other not so much. I’ll start with the first one, as I don’t want  to give too much away about the second, because he’s not somebody I’ve not told many about.  The first, or A, as I shall refer to him, causes so much frustration because things very nearly did go somewhere with us. Unfortunately, A turned out to be a bit of a dick and I quickly left him behind, but he caused arguments with my first real love and even caused me to end that relationship. Something I rarely admit to, but he definitley was the catalyst. I soon realised my mistakes and was taken back by my true love, unfortunately we ran our course, after a good 2 years (I’m sure I shall refer back to him in future posts). Back to the point, A was somebody I knew through friends and because we were in the same class. We got quite close and I went to his a couple of times and stayed over, nothing happened, although it nearly did, it was a strange time. I knew I liked him but I never acted on anything, nor did I tell him. But there were moments where something could of happened, but neither of us acted on it and we kind of went our separate ways.  We’ll take every now and again and when we do the thoughts and feelings I had for him come flooding back and I run over the various moments and events and wonder WHAT IF. I know if we did happen, it would of been a very turbulent and short lived relationship and I doubt we would of lasted than a couple of weeks, but I still wonder what it would of been like.

Now on to the second, simply B. This person is somebody I hold very close to my heart and that is all I’m going to say. Maybe one day I will pour out more about B, but for now he’s going to remain secret. Maybe the sense of mystery will keep you hooked to see if I do reveal the mystery person. I doubt it.

I imagine, in years to come, I’ll have many more of these what if people to talk about. The current what ifs are people I have very fond memories of and will probably never forget, I suppose as life goes on the people who become big what ifs in my life will not always be as positive. But I know that what ever happens in my life, or yours, we will always have these people that make us question our decisions. They don’t even have to be people, I just chose people in this instance. The what ifs or questions may even relate to situations we have to face and decisions we have to make .. who knows.

To end I pose the question to you, do you have a what if person? If you do, comment below! I’d be interested to read about yours.

Out.

And I did more prints this afternoon, out of all the drawing round things I did I liked the fake leaf, partly because drawing round each leafy bit ended up being quite fun because they move all over the place, looks kinda interesting I think. So I have that as a small woodblock, which looks nice as a thing (having removed the paint that got stuck) and alright as prints.

Cleaning things always seems to make more interesting things, or textured translucent things make more interesting things. I’m going to end up filling up windows with prints on tissue I think. Hm.

I drew squares on this last night, it’s the lines in wood repeated five or six times to fill up A4, it didn’t look especially impressive just like that so it got drawn on. I might print on it again, we like layers… The first line of squares were drawn looking at what it was supposed to look like (it’s the the separation of the pink squares, seeing as it somehow ended up as that pink) and the rest was trying to remember that and draw it right. But it definitely didn’t end up right, so it’s ended up as nonsense really.

I sorted out my sketchbook yesterday, there was quite an accumulation of stuff that needed to be added in. So it’s slightly more organised now, even though I’ve not been doing much sketchbook stuff (because I’m working on pieces of paper that won’t fit or doing things that just can’t go in a sketchbook – video, sound, 3d things – and what used to go in A4 sketchbooks, seminar/lecture notes and stuff, now goes into my tiny sketchbook) it’s almost full. It’s gotten to that satisfyingly thick point where it looks like I’ve done lots.

I think I’ve chosen an essay question to do, I’ve been meaning to do that for the past two weeks, so that’s progress. Still not entirely convinced, but I’ve been looking through the library catalogue to find some useful books. Knowing how indecisive I am (actual reason for switching to intermedia: less decisions!) I’ll probably change. There’s a bit of theme developing here with going for the first question, it’s not intentional honestly…they’ve just sounded…more interesting.

“Well listen
Well the modern world is not so bad
Not like the students say
In fact I’d be in heaven
If you’d share the modern world with me
With me in love with the U.S.A now
With me in love with the modern world now
Put down the cigarette
And share the modern world with me”
‘Modern World’, Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers

Was the modern world ‘not so bad’? Discuss in relation to two modernist art movements of the early twentieth century.

It sounded logical at one point, and there’s probably things I could talk about. Maybe more reading/research before rambling though. I’m going to have to come up with a way of getting primary research if at all possible, asking people questions for the last one was just to make it more interesting for me (and whoever read it) but now I’ve sort of…peaked too soon. I’ve got a bit of an (unfair) advantage when it comes to essay writing though, seeing as I’m in the non-dyslexic minority.

This isn’t really relevant to much at all, but I think visual culture is a bit more integrated into studio work this semester – maybe the lectures are just more relevant (the seminar reading I’m avoiding at the moment – I’m half way through it’s allowed – is definitely relevant to the current project) or I’m more aware of it now and I’m trying to make them fit together, but maybe because seminars aren’t just being done by visual culture people this semester. Or all of those. This is probably just me being a bit odd more than anything, but I think the main reason they’re still quite distinct (when they should be integrated nicely) is where the happen – studios are lived in, and there’s a kind of…freedom in what is said in the studio, whereas seminar rooms really aren’t. I know I’m a bit funny when it comes to being attached to places and things, so maybe it doesn’t make sense at all. Although I’ve noticed lectures and stuff being discussed more, and not in a ‘oh crap I’ve not done the reading’/'do we have a lecture?’ way. I’ve lost whatever point I might have had now. Back to seminar reading, I’ve got an essay to read for Tuesday too. And a whole load of other books.

Ehm. I’ve done…stuff. Quite a lot of stuff. Just not writing stuff, because I’ve still got cotton wool for a brain. I went and got something cut with the laser cutter, one of the separations of squares onto a piece of paper to use as a stencil. Which was amazingly quick and lovely (laser-cutter-man gets even more plus points for playing Blondie), but possibly too neat. All my drawings are a bit wonky/all over the place, the lino and woodblock prints even more so and the colouring in squares are all smudgy. I’ll probably still try and make a printing block or something with the laser cutter, but it’s too neat. Not quite…human – like the Photoshop version of the square pattern is too neat, too perfect. I’ve messed the colouring in ones up quite a few times and I kind of like that, like that it’s obviously not something machine-made, mass produced. Not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with that, before I dig myself a huge hole, but it doesn’t quite…fit. A lot of this project has turned into drawings, and I can barely walk in a straight line let alone draw one, so to make such perfect things would be weird, I think. Maybe. I don’t know!

Wednesday was almost entirely printmaking (mono prints, lino and woodblock), which was lovely (and strangely satisfying – ink smells nice, in an inky sort of way, and cleaning it all up and making everything neat again is always nice. That and lifting paper off a board and finding a nice print – good stuff). Laser stencil first I think, I was originally going to put coloured paper behind it so the right coloured squares showed up, but it got inked.

Using it as a stencil – and ghost prints from the inked up board – do make it less accurate, perfect, but I’m still not quite convinced. I’m still beyond excited about what I could use the laser cutter for, but I don’t…want to use just for the sake of having used it.

Doing wood things is so much easier when the wood isn’t impossibly dense, I have a new found love of MDF, I can actually do things with it quickly and sort of accurately! They look quite nice, just as inked up bits of wood too. The first is an outline of the square pattern, or a section of the red squares really. I was going to do it so there was squares, instead of lines, but I liked the lines. And it looks my train maps. So my data has turned into a map, somehow. Which is neat. I’ve done three different colours and on different things, but I like this one. The ones on tracing paper look quite cool backlit (so I stole window space as well as wall space…eek)

I finished an A3 wood thingy this afternoon – of the drawing round of rectangles – so I printed that (without a press, because it was late and I have no idea if my huge paper would even fit and I wanted to fill the paper) and the small one again, there’s a layered one that I really quite like. I need to go over the lines again I think, they weren’t quite defined enough, and I’ll do it in a press next week. I was cleaning the A3 one off and got some nice patterns on bits of tissue, which I kept.

I got distracted from video/sound things, maybe I’ll come back to it. I spent last night (stayed for a long time – I get in about 9 every day, and left sometime after 8 yesterday. Need a life, honestly) colouring in an A1 piece of paper to make into a bag, because Steph has amazing ideas (I owe you!) and taught me how to make a paper bag, I’m going to end up making hundreds and hundreds. It’s – I want to say ‘nice’ but I need a word other than ‘nice’ or ‘lovely’ – neat turning what was a very flat thing into quite an unflat thing. Having something to hold – to fill with phenomena, actually – is different, but good different. I’m going to try making other 3D things from the patterns, bracelets or something, I don’t quite know. I’m so easily impressed, a bag full of phenomena and evidence and a travelling bag. Apparently it’s the best thing I’ve done in my life, which makes my life a) incredibly dull and b) possibly pointless.

It looks annoyingly similar to these, well it’s a bag and there’s squares coloured in with felt tips. It’s just annoying because paper-bag-man is also an intermedia-man (strangely like writing he-who-must-not-be-named), and it’d kind of be awkward I think to show up with paper bags covered in squares. I know they’re not really that similar. Just…yeah. I didn’t mean for that to happen… anyway it links nicely – deliberately, sort of – to the new project, which is kind of just…phenomenon + some.

Outside the white cube

“If one accepts the proposition that the meanings of utterances, actions and events are affected by their ‘local position’, by the situation of which they are a part, then a work of art, too, will be defined in relation to its place and position.”  Nick Kaye

“Museum and mausoleum are connected by more than phonetic association. Museums are like the family sepulchres of works of art. They testify to the neutralisation of culture.” Adorno

It is normally taken for granted that art is seen in a ‘neutral’ white cube gallery space. However, as you have learned, Intermedia challenges commonly held assumptions about art. Though the white cube gallery purports to have a neutrality and emptiness, in fact it is a bastion of Modernist ideology and conventions.

“It was a confrontation with the body. It was a notion that the object recedes in its self-importance. It participates in a complex experience that includes the object, your body, that space, and the time of your experience. It’s locked together in these things”.Robert Morris

You are asked to explore the relationship between space, viewer and art object and how this affects the  experience of your work by making an intervention within the College, in spaces not normally associated with showing artwork (avoid the Sculpture Court, Andrew Grant Gallery for instance).  So, make something, place something, change something within the College that allows the viewer a new experience of a familiar space. An important aspect of an intervention is that it works with the space rather than being imposed upon it. This blurring between the artwork and its site is an important trope within Intermedia; there are no footnotes or frame that tell you how to view the work. The more the object recedes, and the more the experience becomes foregrounded, the better.

The site may offer

a particular and unavoidable history
a particular use (kitchen, workshop, corridor, office)
a particular formality (shape, proportion, height, disposition of architectural elements, etc)
a particular political, cultural or social context

The blurring of art and life situations can result in new and surprising relationships and experiences.

So that’s three weeks, and fits really nicely with what I’m doing, or thinking about doing. Which I was kind of thinking about before I knew the project, always good. As well as making things I’m going to…alter things. In a temporary, impermanent, way so no one gets horribly angry or something. It sounds a wee bit crazy (I’ve been Scottish-ised, sort of, although most certainly no haggis – vegan or otherwise – tonight) at the moment, and I’m not sure if it’s actually a good idea (having done the best thing in my life why bother?!), but I was looking at wall tiles earlier, as readymade squares I could use. There’s some really depressing toilets, with kinda mucky grey tiles and it’s just cold and a bit damp and embarrassingly scary if I’m in at the weekend or something, and I’d quite like to make them a bit…nicer. Everything seems to be quite bright/colourful that I’m doing at the moment, so I don’t know…covering horrible tiles with nice paper cut outs or something. Really I just find the idea of making everyone come down to a toilet cubicle to see work for the crit quite amusing, which has to be a good reason to do something.

So I always feel weird when someone asks me what I do and my reflex action is to spout out the phrase: “I write.”

Should it be enough that one is working on a novel? Or, is one only allowed to call oneself a writer once that novel is not only published, but once it has graced the cover of reviews and bestselling lists as well?

I would like to take this opportunity to mention another painful fact that writers share. A novel, like Rome, is not built in a day. It takes years to write a solid novel, especially a debut novel. So, if I see you and you ask me “what are you doing?” and I answer “writing a novel,” expect to hear the same response day in and day out for years. No, it doesn’t mean I am lazy. It just means I am writing, and rewriting, and chucking it out, and writing something else, and chucking that out, and writing, then rewriting, then editing, until I am certain that this is what I want to represent my style and form. 

In the meantime, while I drive myself mad working on a debut novel, I try to publish short pieces: articles, poems, and fiction. In a sense, I do it to drive off critics who call me an impostor once I tell them I’m a writer. I also do it to advance my own writing, by experimenting with themes, phrases, and characterizations.

Oh, and there’s something else. I ask too many question, forgive me. I ask what people did, where they did it, how they felt when they did it, how they looked, smelled, sounded, and so on. I ask them detailed questions, and I am not above pointing out patterns where things interact or clash with one another. I am always analyzing everything anyone says, and I am always asking myself how I can steal one’s life to employ it in my fiction.

So here is the post’s conclusion: I am a writer even though I haven’t yet published a bestselling novel; I am working on a different novel than the 600 ones I’ve started in the past; and you are probably in it.

When I was thirteen I got my first blow job.  It was given to me by my spanish tutor who lives up the street from my grandmother’s house.  She was a senior and I was in eighth grade.  Needless to say my terrified,  borderline prepubescent penis never made it beyond half a chub.  I would imagine it would have been like blowing a jellyfish.  I talked to her not too long ago after she dug me up on Facebook.  She works the cash register at RiteAid.  For whatever reason, she asked me point blank how her head measured up by comparison to all the other head I’ve received over the years.  I lied to her and told her it was the best head of my life.  I don’t think I’ll ever understand why I felt the need to tell her that.

When I was fifteen I lost my virginity to a chubby ginger boy who worked at the Orange Julius at the mall.  It happened in the front seat of a car outside my  house at 11:30 PM on a school night.  The whole ordeal took roughly around 13 seconds.  When we were done he didn’t believe that I was a virgin.  Something about me told him that I’d done this before.  Everyone has this idea of what it will be like to lose your virginity.  It usually involves being showered with rose pedals while being serenaded by a string quartet that was hired to play outside your bedroom door.  But you’d be surprised by how quickly you’re willing to get it over with.

When I was seventeen I made out with some thirty five year old in the hallway of some bar.  I came that night armed with a fake ID so I was pretty well inebriated.  It was Halloween and I was wearing a Superman costume that was two sizes too small.  He was about 5’6 and looked like a cross between Dennis Hoffman and the cartoon version of Harry Potter.  Try your best to put that image together yourself.  He later led me outside and took me out behind the bar, smiling at me as he undid his belt.  “How cool is this?” he said.  “This is the kind of stuff they do in porno movies.” As it turned out a friend of mine went looking for me and came to my rescue as soon as this guy attempted to force me to suck his dick.  My friend punched him the face.  That night I went to bed in my Superman costume with Halloween candy still between my teeth.

I like to think myself as a decent handy man.  I recognize I don’t come off that way. I’m clumsy.  I get hurt easy.  And yes I did once glue my knee to a tile while redoing my bathroom. But overall, I’m pretty good.

Because of that side of me, one of my favorite things to buy, outside of socks, is tools.  Consider it the Tim Taylor in me.  I will make up excuses to buy a tool.  At one point, Home Depot workers just left me alone.  Probably because I put in more hours there than most of their workers.

The “tool” mindset came because of a quote I came across by Abraham Harold Maslow.  He was an American psychologist. The quote that got me thinking says…

“If the only tool you have is a hammer, you tend to see every problem as a nail.”

Don’t get me wrong.  A hammer is a great tool (coming from a person who owns 6 hammers of different types).  BUT if it’s your only tool in your “arsenal” of tools, you may be in trouble.

I don’t know what comes to mind when you think of a “hammer” in your marriage.  I think of those that don’t possess (or choose not to possess) the skills/tools necessarily to handle conflict and communication.  THIS IS NOT A GUY ISSUE.  If you are harsh with your spouse…if you are brash…if you have no patience…if kindness no longer exists in your tones…if you treat your friends better than your spouse…if you ignore your spouse…

…then I already know what’s in your “marriage tool arsenal.”

A hammer

A few thoughts come to mind about people who only own a hammer:
1 –  You are not ready to fix anything. At the site of a problem, it’s a good chance that it either it won’t be fixed or you’ll get to it later.
MARRIAGE TIP: The worst time to learn about your marriage is when it’s going through turmoil.  As I’ve blogged before, become a student of your spouse.  BUT take it a step further, become a student of marriage. Go the God’s word.  Why?  He’s the creator and builder of marriage.  He’s the one that originally said, “it’s not good that man should be alone.“

2 – You are not equipped to do technical repairs.  Back in the day, a few hits to the side of my TV did the job.  That doesn’t work for my flatscreen. It seems like every new car that is produces has more and more computer technology, thus, making repairs takes specialized tools…most of which, excludes hammers.
MARRIAGE TIP: Sometimes the problem isn’t really a problem.  It’s a symptom of a larger issue. I’ve heard people say to me, “I took care of the problem.” What I hear: “I fixed the momentary problem without bringing any change to my lifestyle or habits.”  It’s a hammer mindset. Pier under the surface.  If you are dealing with similar issues all the time, I venture to say that you are spending too much time on one symptom of a bigger problem. I think of 1 Samuel 16:7.  We look at the outward.  God looks deeper.  So should we. 

3 – You are not equipped to do delicate repair.  Small, fragile objects, cannot be fixed with the swing of the hammer. You need tools that are sensitive and/or work with your sensitivity. I think of when I needed to fix the wiring of Anne’s hair straightener, I never once grabbed my sledgehammer.
MARRIAGE TIP: Have you seen it from their side?  Slip out of your self-centered mindset and see it through their eyes.  Lay down your desires and be sensitive to their perspective.  Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count your spouse more significant than yourselves. Philippians 2:3.

4 –  You may not have the knowledge to know what tools to get. Some people say ignorance is bliss.  Tell that to a leak in a pipe or a weak spot in your roof.  You can choose ignorance if you want.  But it won’t fix itself.
MARRIAGE TIP: Stop saying “it’s his/her problem.” That mindset is cancerous. It’s always a “WE” problem.  If the two truly become one, then a problem for one is problem shared by the two.  Don’t approach by choosing ignorance. Better yet, don’t allow your spouse to be ignorant of the issue.  In fact, in Hosea 4:6, God says it was destroying his people.

5 – You may have no desire to get involved. You don’t have the time for it. Or…you have a fear of results and therefore, you don’t want to deal with it.
MARRIAGE TIP: Passion begets passion.  Lack of passion begets frustration.  You want frustration?  Show a lack of desire in your marriage. You want frustration in bed? Show a lack of desire your spouse. You want frustration with finances?   Show a lack of desire to deal with budgets.  You want frustration with communication? Show a lack of desire to be assertive (clearly communicating) and use active listening (hearing and stating what has just been said).   Get your passion back.  The only way I know how to do that is to discover my passion in God and he makes my joy full.   The byproduct of full joy: passion for my spouse. John 15:11-12

6 – Your spouse may never ask you to fix anything.  The driving force is fear.  Fear that it won’t be correctly handled. Your spouses’ response: I WILL find someone else who is equipped to fix it.
MARRIAGE TIP: This has nothing to do with marriage counseling!!! Get help if you need it!! What this is saying, if you choose to consistently mishandle your spouse, you will push them to someone who will.  You need be approachable.  You need to stop being reactionary. You can’t seed fear because of how you handle things.  The atmosphere of your home cannot be fear.  2 Timothy 1:7

You are not Thor.

You cannot approach your marriage in a “hammer” manner expecting it to get healthier.  Know this, the Lord hasn’t abandoned you.  In fact, His Word is there as a help and guide toward health in your life and in marriage.

2 Timothy 3:16-17 All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work.

I want you to be fully equipped.  Invite Christ into your marriage.  Invite His word to help “equip you.” Ask the Lord to help you with the tools necessary to build a strong, passionate, and God-glorifying marriage.

Thanks for letting me ramble…

I’d never really written an art-ish essay (I’m not counting the book I did for photography, that was just me rambling for several thousand words more than necessary), hence the load of Cs. I can die happy now I’ve got something better than an A3, and they’ve never all been As before. There was quite a bit of squealing when I saw it… I’m celebrating with whisky – did I ever list the reasons I chose Edinburgh? There’s sensible reasons – like I loved it when we came in April, and I actually got in (that is a sensible reason, I couldn’t say no to that) – but then there’s actual reasons – like the fact that Scottish accents are entirely lovely, I like whisky (but most definitely not haggis – vegan or otherwise), and I burn very easily if there’s even the tiniest amount of sunlight. And…I like rain.

I’ve done quite a bit, mostly drawing. Having bought all that printing stuff I’ve only used it once so far, I’ll find something else to print I’m sure. Firstly, I’m not a morning person. At all. Even if I don’t sleep much. So I spent two and a half hours colouring in tiny little squares that I could barely see before I realised that I had a laptop, and it was in fact possible to do the whole damn thing in twenty minutes. I’ve not even done half of it by hand (but I will…I like it more for a start). So, the hand coloured version – which is kinda neat close up, but looks way better from a distance – and a digital version (which will mess with your eyes).

The stem and leaf diagram of times has been colour coded too, there’s a tiny version of that on graph paper, but I’ll do a bigger version I think. I’ve changed all my wall around, old stuff is back in the desk because I was running out of room. It’s sort of chronological now, and there’s kind of…links between each thing, or I can see that there’s links. Doing stuff never fails to make me think of something else to do, so I can see where I started and where I’ve ended up now. Which is good, easier than flicking through a sketchbook (although gets being filled up too).

I’m pretty certain that wasn’t what this phone number was for (phenomena #10 I think), I’m pretty sure it was for bed bug clearing or something. That’s also how I spent yesterday, trying to find people for the two phone numbers I have and being remarkably unsuccessful.

More colouring in tomorrow I think, and tutorial-ing, and trying to work out which essay question I want to do. We have another one to do, and none of the questions are especially nice, well maybe they are really. But the other one just sounded…interesting, and was something I was interested in. Although this semesters lectures nicely cover the bit of history I like – I have no idea why I like the 20th century so much more than anything else – so maybe it’s not so bad. It’s just hard to coherently articulate things I probably – but not definitely – know into an essay (seriously, how the hell did I demonstrate an applied knowledge of visual culture theories in the art school essay?!) I still haven’t finished Why Art Cannot Be Taught, I’m at least further in than I was, and reading the bits that were less relevant before, it’s so strange to see things that we do so often written about and analysed like that, although I’m putting off the chapters on crits (I still don’t like ‘em, reading about them might make it worse, although we’re crit free until 25th January which is brilliant as far as I’m concerned). I counted up how many books I’m currently reading, I’m actually ashamed of my inability to finish anything at the moment. Some are only for dipping in and out of though – or that’s my excuse anyway. I got my huge box of books I’d sent myself today, so I’m happy. Less writing, more reading.

I did a few more today, having acquired lots more stuff. I pretty much killed the poor bit of lino though, there wasn’t any fabric-y bit on the back, so…ehm…there’s some holes in it. At least those bits don’t print though! Hm. I seem to have a thing for red, I didn’t want to buy red ink – but it was the only one I knew was water based. I’ll go find some scrap wood/metal at some point too.

Desk has been reclaimed, and wall space taken up. I like being able to look at everything at once. I even have a studio calendar now… There’s more stuff up though, I spent all afternoon doing things. Which was nice. I decided the blackboard kicking about in my locker might as well be useful, so my new permanent to do list (probably better than using my hand).

And some (useless) data-y things… A massive list of times and dates and places and categories, and with lists of evidence that I was actually there and i’m not making it up. Although why I’d make it up I don’t know. That might be even sadder than having collected them in the first place…

And a stem and leaf diagram of times, I got distracted from the circular thing. It ended up as lines, because I seem to like lines too. I’d ordered a copy of Lines: A Brief History, because it was cheaper than the other ones (less than £20, instead of near £40…) and the library copy was out (and it wasn’t the ECA library for some unknown reason, but the main library which is about a billion times bigger). Anyway…that got cancelled because the guy lost the book. It’s probably good, because I need to actually read the books I buy. Not going too well so far.

I think that’s enough for now…

I have this really loud laugh. Gail calls it a cackle. My guys compare it to the sound of a dolphin. It’s my dad’s laugh. Fucking bastard. I say that in jest. I love my daddy.

Guy in bar: “I love your laugh.”
Me: drunk and aware that this is a line “Really? Because no one else does.”

Twice this week, I’ve laughed loudly and uncontrollably in restaurants. Both times have been with Gail and about things that we shouldn’t discuss in public.

discussing anal sex, which I’ve told Gail she only likes because it “makes her grandma cry”/is tabboo
Gail: “You know… the thing that makes my granny sob.”
Me: “You call it your granny?”

This lead to maniacal giggling and disgusting jokes about how you could create euphamisms for not having sex, such as “My grandma has a nose bleed.”

The second time was at McDonald’s. Both of us are nervous about this country’s future and I was looking up the requirements to move to Canada the other day. Gail talked about it as well, because we’re oddly attached to one another.

Me: “I highly doubt I’ll ever move that far from Gail and if she moves away, I imagine I’ll follow and I don’t care if everyone in the family thinks I’m a lesbian because of it.”
Dad: “Hey, I don’t care either way.”

My redneck daddy told me he doesn’t care if I’m a lesbian. Awwww. I mean, I’m not, but still…

So, I told Gail that Americans always say “I’m moving to Canada” as a threat (not so much me, as I’m actually intersted in Canada), because we’re stupid. It’s  apparently really difficult to move to Canada.

Me: “I imagine if I wanted to, I might be able to get a visa based on my education, which is apparently a thing. Otherwise, I’d have to find a job where they want me badly enough to go through the trouble to help me get a work visa.”
Gail: “Which means it would be really difficult for me to work for their postal service.”

(I’d like to interrupt to clarify that we’re not packing our bags for Canada. We come up with these schemes all the time. We’ve already moved to North Carolina, Colorado, Oregon, and New Zealand in our heads.)

Me: “Not necessarily. You see, I was thinking, gay marriage might be legal in Canada. They’ll allow you to move there with a spouse. So… I move to Canada and then…”
Gail: “I think I would rather stay here under The Regime than be your wife.”
Me: “Come on. It’s not like we have to be practicing lesbians. We’d just be lesbians on paper. Marry me, eh.”

Then Gail tore the corner off some trash and gave it to me like a ring, as she once had a dream where her ex-boyfriend proposed to her that way and I make fun of her for it all the time. She then told me that she thinks that vaccinations are possibly just the United States government running experiments on us and she’s aware that she’s completely paranoid, but still. I interrupted her for my faux crying panic impersonation of her.

Me: mock hyperventilating “Oh, my gosh! We didn’t land on the moon! We didn’t land on the moon and now I’m going to have to move to Canada and be your lesbian wife because of it! Do we have to consumate this marriage? Is that even possible with lesbians? Does that even count? How do lesbians even consumate anything?!?!?!”

When we joke around, there’s always this point where we’re giggling like crazy over something that’s not even funny, because we’ve both gone off the deep end. We call this a Rice Cubes moment, not because we’ve ever giggled like maniacs over the phrase, but because we would. Once, when I was heartbroken over some mommy issues, she tried to cheer me up by mentioning this.

text message
Gail: Rice cakes!
Me: Um… I think it was rice cubes.
Gail: Oh. You’re right. I was trying to cheer you up, but I guess that was just a snack.

Surprisingly, that worked.

I’ve been writing this blog on and off through the day while taking breaks from taking down my Christmas tree. At the moment, I’m lying in my living room floor, surrounded by Christmas lights and storage boxes, struggling to type with a Band-Aid on my finger so I don’t get blood on the keyboard. This shit is hard, y’all.

When I put up the Christmas tree, there was a point where it was on the floor in pieces, along with a lot of broken glass. I ended up crying on the couch texting Chad to come help me put it up, because I’d accidentally broken the stand and couldn’t get the new one on. I was pretty pissed that I couldn’t get the tree up on my own. I also knew I’d pay for that glass. But you know what? I got my tree down all by myself. You wouldn’t think that would be empowering, particularly since I injured myself multiple times doing it, (and at one point dropped it on the dog) but I’m still getting the hang of this Solo Woman single girl thing, so I’m pretty fucking proud. One day, I’ll surely find a nice boy to help with my Christmas tree, but on that day, I won’t doubt that I could’ve handled it alone. Go me.

He did not even care.

So I pushed the tree aside and decorated him.

The walk started quite straightforwardly with a gentle downhill stroll from a small village towards the coast.  In fact, it wasn’t really straight forward at all because, as has been usual in Dorset over recent months, there was thick and slippery mud everywhere, not conducive to safe downhill walking.  So it was out with the walking pole just to try to avoid the ‘wet, muddy bottom’ syndrome !  Now if I had had a pair of skis with me……..!

I came out onto the coast at one of the many disused quarries that litter this stretch of Dorset and for a time the sun actually made an appearance.

Rolling waves

The wind was working itself up into a frenzy and the waves were powering their way to the shore, only to come to an abrupt halt on the rocks at the foot of the ledge.  They almost seemed to display their annoyance at being stopped by launching themselves as high as they could into the air.

Angry waves

Conditions for photography were dire because the spray coming up from the rocks below was enormous - in fact it may as well have been raining!  Cameras and salt sea spray do not make a good mix so the only way to get pictures was to hold the camera landward of my body to protect it, and then very quickly bring it up, grab the picture and then tuck it away again.  There was no time to properly compose the shots.

Very soon, the sun disappeared as the clouds continued to build ominously.  Normally this would be disappointing but in fact it was perfect because it really brought out the ferocity of the stormy weather and the real ‘personality’ of this rugged coast.  It is a very changeable area, seemingly incongruently tame and innocent in the sunshine but taking on a whole new sinister character as the storm rolled in.

The storm clouds roll in

Along this part of the coast, there are many old quarry caves so I decided to take refuge in one of those and to see if I could at least find some way of getting out of the constant spray so that I could try to get some better pictures.  I was carrying my tripod so I set this up in the entrance to one of the caves and stood between it and the sea so that I could protect it from the spray.  I was then able to get some long exposure shots in an attempt to convey the true power of the sea.

On the quarry ledge

The quarry cave entrance

Stormy seas

My intention was to climb from here up over St Aldhelm’s Head so I repacked my rucksack and left the safe confines of the cave and walked out again into the teeth of the storm.  The route initially took me along the rocky ledge but all too soon I had to leave that solid ground and venture onto the very muddy footpath that climbs steadily upwards towards the top of the headland some 350 feet above the sea.  Any of my local readers will know that this mud is SLIPPERY and CLINGY so that your feet become heavier and heavier as you walk.  With the combination of the ever steepening path, the slippery mud, the sea spray, and the howling gale that was gusting powerfully off the sea, this was one challenging walk………and it was GREAT !!  The expression ‘blow the cobwebs away’ comes to mind.  It was only later that I learned just how strong the wind was!

There was one particular incident that was funny…….and you will need to use your imagination here.  As I was slip sliding up the hill, my hat blew off over a barbed wire fence and started bowling its way at a rate of knots across the field.  Now this was a hat that was bought for me by my daughter so I was rather attached to it (although thinking about it, maybe it would have been better if I had been literally attached to it ! ) and I wasn’t about to let it go.  So I climbed the barbed wire fence, tearing my waterproofs in the process, and complete with heavy backpack ran after it – hopefully you can picture the scene .  I managed to catch up with it eventually and stowed it safely away before climbing back over the fence onto the coast path to continue my upward journey.

The St Aldhelm’s Quarry ledge

I must have made a strange sight as it was impossible to walk in a straight line as I was buffeted and slipped all over the place.  In addition, to try to stay upright, I had to lean into the wind which then made a fool of me by momentarily dropping so that I nearly fell over.  It was a miracle that I kept my feet but to anyone looking on it must have looked like I was a drunken man!  At times, it was even difficult to move at all!  Eventually the path levelled out as I reached the quarry ledge just below the top of the headland.

This ledge has a lot of history with the remains of a once thriving quarrying industry, and also the remains of a Second World War Radar Research Post but I think that will need a separate blog entry to detail.

The chimney

The remains include what I call ‘The Chimney’, a stack of stones left by the quarrymen when the work ceased – oh how I wish the picture could convey to you the strength of the wind gusting across that ledge.  Sadly, this is where a picture fails.  One of the quirky things about St Aldhelm’s Head is the effect on the sea and the many white horses that are seen here.  These are apparently caused by the fact that there is a ledge some 30 feet below the surface that stretches several miles out to sea.  It makes these waters quite dangerous and because of that, there is a National Coastwatch Lookout Post on the headland.

White horses and storm clouds

From the quarry ledge, it is only a short hop up to the top of the headland……..but I think I gave the National Coastwatch Volunteers a bit of a shock when I climbed up the cliff beside their lookout post, they hadn’t expected to see anyone on a day like this!  I went into the lookout post for a few minutes to chat to the ‘Coastguards’ and the calmness and peace inside was tangible…..and a welcome respite!  Being wet and muddy, I dared not venture too far in though!  The volunteers had just been carrying out a reading of the wind speed and they told me that it was a Force 9 gale – OK, so a slight breeze , no wonder my hair was blowing about!!  The light was fading so I couldn’t stay long before I headed out into the wind again to take a last look west along the coast.

Inclement weather and fading light

As I turned away from the coast to start my walk inland, I passed the row of old coastguard cottages that stand proud on the headland.  These once housed the officer and men with their families but are now in private ownership, mostly as holiday accommodation – and what a great place to stay!  With the heavy storm clouds above, I couldn’t resist taking one more picture.  It was an interesting experiment in how to hold a camera steady in the failing light with a Force 9 gale blowing!!  I could have used the tripod but that wouldn’t have stood a chance – well just ‘wouldn’t have stood’!!  As it was, I just crouched as low as possible and anchored myself as best I could.

The old coastguard cottages at St Aldhelm’s Head

And so, finally I made my way along the rough track that would take me back to my starting point.  As I walked, the Coastwatch volunteers passed me by in their 4X4 and stopped to offer me a lift to get me out of the wind – I thanked them but refused.  Well the wind may have been battering me all day and I might have been soaked with all the spray but I was enjoying my ‘walk’ far too much and I didn’t want it to end.

Be blessed!

Thanks for stopping by and reading the ramblings of The Dorset Rambler.

Until next time,
Your friend
The Dorset Rambler.

If you would like to contact me, my details are on my website which is http://www.yarrowphotography.com – comments and feedback are welcomed.

All photographs, poems and words in this blog are the copyright of The Dorset Rambler and must not be reproduced without permission.

Overwhelmed.

It’s the only word I can use to describe what I feel.

Overwhelmed.

I walked into my office almost an hour earlier than the office opened, determined to spend some time alone in prayer.  The temperature caught me off guard.  It was 54 degrees. Walking over to my heater, I  noticed the pile of “Greater Than” cards that were turned in from yesterday’s gathering.  After some time in the Word, I piled them up and carried the down to the prayer room not anticipating what would transpire.

Overwhelmed.

I carefully set them down and put Pandora on my iPhone.  I’ll tell you the song that came on first. It was “The Stand” by Hillsong (Heres the link if you need to hear it: .)

The lyrics began…”So what can I say/What can I do/But offer this heart O God/Completely to You.” 

I began to read each card.  I began to pray card…by card…by card…

Overwhelmed.

I don’t think it was three or four cards into the pile where I found myself with streams of tear mixed into my prayers.  It was as if my emotions were out of control yet there wasn’t a sense of chaos.  I tried to find a word to describe what was exploding in my spirit.

One by one, I read each card out loud.  One by one, each statement, on each card had a profound impact on me. Like weights added to a scale causing one side to lower and the other side to rise. I was thinking of the sound of my high school weight room when 45 lb. weights were being added onto the bar. I hear the sound of the bare metal hitting metal. Clang.  Each statement. Clang.

> than fear…Clang

> than loneliness…Clang

> than lust…Clang

> than my illness…Clang

I questioned what I was feeling.  Was I carrying the burden of the congregation?  Was I hurting for people?  I guess there’s a level of that sensation that I always carry.  But this was different.  This was not weight being placed upon me.  It was the amount faith pouring out of these words of desperation like water releasing from a balloon that was filled beyond capacity.  It was as if I could hear the cry of hearts speaking out of faith, “MY GOD IS GREATER THAN…!”

The scale metaphor came back to me.

That overwhelming feeling had nothing to do with the side of the scale that was being weighed down.  It was the other side rising up. In my mind’s eye, the faith of our congregation was far-outweighing anything that was stacked against them.

I’m overwhelmed with excitement for 2013.  I’m overwhelmed with anticipation for the way this series is going to flow.  I’m overwhelmed with the faith of Kfirst.

Overwhelmed.

Thanks for letting me ramble…

First of all, I wish you all a very happy new year.  May 2013 bring you health, happiness and fulfilment, and a fresh discovery of all that is beautiful in God’s created countryside around you. For those of you who follow my blog, thank you for taking the time to read it and for all of your kind comments.

The end of the year always seems a good time to take stock and to review all that has happened over the last 12 months so I did a review of all the walks that I have done in 2012.  Excluding the ‘Sunday afternoon strolls’ (which don’t necessarily happen on a Sunday but you get the picture), the following are my statistics:

Full day walks completed – 100
Total distance walked  - 1,250 miles
Average distance per walk – 12.5 miles
Longest single day walk – 35.2 miles

I don’t normally keep such detailed figures but as I am writing a book on walking in Dorset, I need to check distances and timings.  The statistics make interesting reading however and just reinforce how very fortunate I feel that in my 65th year I still have good health and the energy to enjoy my favourite past-time.  I feel blessed!

The coming year will be a special one because it is not only my 65th birthday, but will be the year of my official retirement, my wife has a significant birthday , and it is also our 40th wedding anniversary.  And of course, God willing, it will be a year of lots more walking.

Looking back over the last year put me in ‘reminiscing’ mode and I came across some old photographs which were taken some 35 years ago !

What the well dressed walker was wearing 35 years ago

A rather fetching outfit don’t you think , especially the red hiking boots, which incidentally were leather and cost me all of £7!  In those days, I wasn’t able to walk quite as much as I do now since I was the sole bread winner and had a young family and a mortgage to support.  This meant working full time and trying to make some money out of photography in my spare time.  Weekends were either valuable family time or were spent photographing weddings.

However, I did manage to carve out some walking time, sometimes escaping with one of my brothers for a Saturday jaunt, or perhaps taking my son along in a rather battered carrier that we managed to acquire !

Father/son time

Another way I managed to get my walking time was by going out early in the morning.  I would get up at 3 am in the summer and be able to do a really good walk and still be home in time for breakfast and to spend the day with my family.  There is nothing better than being in the countryside or on the coast first thing in the morning before anyone is up and watching the sun rise as you walk, to watch the earth waking up after its night of slumbering.

Later, as my children were growing up, we developed a great arrangement – my son Paul and I would take off for a days walking whilst my wife and daughter would do ‘girly’ things.  Later, at my wife’s suggestion, we bought a two man tent and Paul and I started backpacking on some weekends, usually along the Dorset coast.  At first of course I carried everything on my back but as Paul grew, he gradually started to share the load.

Our trips grew over the years and we started to go away for walking weeks, often to the Lake District where we would camp in the Great Langdale Valley, but also to Scotland, North Wales, The Brecon Beacons and so on.  We would walk all day, cook dinner on the stove outside the tent, and then take an evening stroll to our favourite watering hole which was The Stickle Barn Inn.  I remember how much lighter the evenings seemed to be in the north of England and we would walk the mile or so back to the tent at 11 pm and it would still be light enough to see.  Of course it was probably helped by the fact that there was no light pollution!

The Dorset Rambler and Son at The Stickle Barn Inn

These were special times and they have given me such wonderful memories.  To anyone reading this who has children, I cannot recommend highly enough the value of spending time together in the outdoors, especially in this computer age we live in.  It will build strong and deep relationships as well as encouraging a healthy interest in nature and the countryside.

Paul and I still walk together and thoroughly enjoy each others company, in fact I am blessed with having a great relationship with both of my children – well adults I should say !  What more could a man ask for!

I could continue to reminisce for hours but I fear you would become bored.  So to come back to where we started, I don’t necessarily wish you wealth as that is transitory, I wish you health and happiness as these are so much more fulfilling and long lasting.

A very happy new year to you all.

Be blessed!

Thanks for stopping by and reading the ramblings of The Dorset Rambler.

Until next time,
Your friend
The Dorset Rambler.

If you would like to contact me, my details are on my website which ishttp://www.yarrowphotography.com – comments and feedback are welcomed.

All photographs, poems and words in this blog are the copyright of The Dorset Rambler and must not be reproduced without permission.

So change that to ‘the person you’re married to and why you love them’ and we have a deal.

Here we go, number 6.

My husband is an amazing person most of the time. Even when he’s not, though, the things that are frustrating or psychotic-episode-inducing are still things I appreciate about him. Firstly, he is incredibly selfless. I love that about him. He is someone who wants the best for me, even if I don’t realize that what he is doing is for my benefit, he does it anyway. Even if it causes a fight, or causes me to be unjustifiably angry with him, he does it, because it’s what’s best for me. Certainly not easiest for him; easy would be giving me what I want all of the time, avoiding my confrontational side at all costs. He doesn’t take the easy way out, he takes the difficult, selfless, caring and reasonable way. The hard way. I love that about him. I also know it will make him a good father. No, we won’t have a ‘daddy’s girl’, but we will have children who realize certain undeniable truths, responsibility throughout life, and a hard-earned sense of pride in their accomplishments.

He is also funny. I mean, we have a rather twisted sense of humor so some people don’t understand these things, but to me, he is hilarious. I think that’s what is important. He might not be able to stand up with the best stand-up comedians, or sitcom stars, but to me, his puns are always painfully amusing, his quips terribly well-timed and his pop-culture references are always exactly what I was thinking in the back of my head. It’s actually really amazing the frequency that he will say aloud a joke or comment that I had been literally thinking in my head only milliseconds prior to his verbalization. I suppose finishing one another’s sentences isn’t so cliche after all.

He is responsible. This is one of those things that drives me insane sometimes. There are moments, and yes I will admit they are usually poorly thought out and ill-timed, when I want to run wildly through a crowded place, scream on the top of my lungs, do something totally wild, irresponsible, illegal or otherwise crazy, and he is there- the constant voice of reason and stability. While those momentary bursts of insanity, though they may be fun in the short term, often would have had unanticipated repercussions which dear husband actually thought about in advanced and warned me about. While, yes, he may be construed as a ‘stick in the mud’, but he is amazingly careful about the effect that his action may have on another person- stranger or friend, and the ability to deal with the aftermath of any given situation. Suffice it to say, he has saved me from more than a few bad situations of my own making.

He loves me. Is there much more one can ask for in a mate? He loves me! Little old me. Tiny old, boring old, ugly old me. Me. Who suffered through that terribly awkward phase in high school- in fact, that’s when he fell in love with me in the first place. Me, who tried a hundred different avenues toward creativity and failed at them all. Me, who still doesn’t have a career or a plan toward stability in the future, beyond relying on him. Me, who has a terribly morbid, twisted and perverted sense of humor. Me, the least lady-like lady of them all. Me, the terribly stubborn, self-centered, obnoxious, quick-to-anger and slow-to-forgive. He loves me. I can’t tell you why, or how it happened, but I know it to be true. To the very core, I know it to be true. That truth sustains me even through the darkest nights, the loneliest moments, the harshest fights and cruelest words tumbling out of my mouth and batted back-and-forth. He loves me. I love him back; with force.

He is my guiding light.

My rock.

My comfort and support.

He is everything to me. When people make fun of me for turning down drinks and dancing to hang out with him, watching tv and eating pizza in the living room. When people laugh that our idea of a fun day is playing board games and taking public transit to the library or wal-mart, I don’t care.

I would rather spend the most incredibly boring, low-key day with my beloved husband than go exploring on the moon. I would rather do absolutely nothing with him by my side, than visit Disney Land, Rome and Paris all in one day. I would rather spend my time; every breath, with this boy, than do anything else. I love him to death. I will love him to death. Death do us part.