… and a law unto itself. Having given mine over to the acquisition of facts, academic analysis, and sleeplessness, the arrival of a poem was unexpected. It is always fascinating to see what turns up; on this occasion there is a slightly inverted relationship to the day thoughts, as the poem is about going to sleep, but the reproachful tone is a considerable surprise.
… with relief. Apparently some of the metaphors played 🙂 And the bits that wouldn’t go into the suitcase don’t seem to have been too disastrous, leaving me a respectable % – quite pleasing, considering it’s twenty years since the last bout of academic prose. On to the next…
an infallible sign that Christmas is nigh (in case you hadn’t noticed).
I’ve not made these for years. Turns out stained glass biscuits are still, as always, a curse, because splinters of chopped sweet scoot out from under the knife and travel all over the kitchen.
Oh well…it was due for a mop anyway.
and down and up and to and fro and back and forward – hunting the elusive gift. At last I crossly gave up.
Once home there was indulgence: what one might call a comfy read, though some of the content was far from comfy, given the grim history of gem mining in all the world’s continents.
The sun set over a quiet sea
and then a 360° degree sunset. From the back
from the front
and straight up to the zenith.
Later I glued tiny angel pegs and dried oranges and deep grey card and leaves,
while listening to Oliver Twist – today’s bargain from the charity shop, somewhat hammered on the outside and missing disc 1 of Pride and Prejudice – but I could be said to be familiar with those chapters anyway 🙂
I’ll go on to something really festive to help me get through the pre-Christmas housework. Maybe Crime and Punishment?
Sadly, the institutional trees are often repeats from the previous year, but even so some new ones are successful or witty or bold.
One of the most elaborate was for the church roof appeal
while another boasted very lavish decorations.
This one made good use of redundant necklaces
and – back to elaboration – I think the revolving tree was a first for our festival.
Out back to the garage in the dark and cold, playing a kind of loathsome hopscotch over grey slugs which slime about even in December. As always I was longing for the heat in my face, the clean smell, and the sense of relief or exasperation, as it might happen to be.
Rather less like milk chocolate, and luckily the local clay hasn’t cracked. I’ve rushed these little plaques and the edges are rougher than they should be. Must check them over and use a carborundum to take down anything notably savage.
These are a dull idea, redeemed because they retain the chaste quality of the parent porcelain, while a judicious quantity of toilet roll (infra dig!) added to the body makes them lighter and warmer to the touch. They take a crisp impression, which may be useful for a more sophisticated future project.
I’m unsure what to do with the small pieces, though there are a few experiments ready to go. But the pierced hearts have arrived just in time to save my bacon; it’s the Christmas tree festival this week, and until this hour had no idea what to do for the family tree.
These mass productions are beach clay with added paper; they looked rather like milk chocolate in the morning light
which was unfortunate as it isn’t time to have chocolate for breakfast yet.
I am stocking up with beaches while the weather lasts. This one is usually visited when heavy surf is running in; it felt odd that waves existed only as almost imperceptible blue streaks refracted round the lighter blue of the bay.
Out in the garage I loaded the kiln. The temperature was plunging, and I could scarcely feel the small icy items as I lifted them in with equally icy hands.
Oh well, we always knew it would be excruciating. And this is not the week for it, either.
The time for pencils was over. I tried out writing with this one … and I tried out writing with that one … and then this one again …
I wrote the alphabet out 19 times …
and the Greek alphabet once, on the off chance that it would make things better. It didn’t.
Several partial drafts later, the week has passed in a blur of enforced attention and dreadful old movies.