why, fancy meeting you here.

What do you say after a long absence? An explanation of sorts is customary, I think.

So, 2011. I spent 6 months with no house, I (unintentionally) internet-detoxed, I found a home, I grew up a little bit, I got a tattoo (oh, the clich√©), someone I loved, died (I grew up a whole lot more), I finished my degree, I designed a tattoo for someone important, I threw out half my wardrobe, I started to drag my life into some new kind of order, I did a lot of art, I got the internet again, and…oh, that’s about up to date, I think.

Of course it was more complicated than that. There was bliss and exhaustion; wrenching, unstoppable tears. Glitter-covered nights and gutter star-gazing (stars are always best admired sitting curb-side). Books full of scribbles and drawings and vast ideas; vaster plans. A lot of love and affection. Probably equal parts rage and angst. New skills, old skills. Tearing my hair out writing to deadlines (cutting my hair, dying my hair, deciding to stop cutting it). Tulle and coffee and beautiful books and Lucien Freud and kisses and melancholy and insterstate car trips and rent and heart-stopping boredom and days of painting and giving away shoes and too many cigarettes (and too little dancing, always too little dancing) and you know.

Life happened.

Albeit rather more dramatically than would have made last year, well, nice. It wasn’t nice at all. But it was…stunning, all-encompassed by an awareness of ending. It will always be the year I finished my studies, and the year S. died.

This year…this will be a year of working hard. Of beginnings and the getting done of things. And a lot of art. Mostly art, really. But I guess you wouldn’t be reading this blog if you weren’t into that sort of thing, now, would you?


 (all photographs by me, c. 2012)

2 Comments to “why, fancy meeting you here.”

  1. I’m sorry grief and loss touched you last year, I am glad to hear you found your way through, and also back to art. I hope this year is truly magical for you. xx

    …I am rather curious as to what tattoo you have adorned yourself with, although I would never get one I love looking at other’s designs (funnily enough my mother has gotten three this year already…)

  2. Thank you for your condolences and hopes.

    Tattoos are strange things. They often seem to pale a little, for me, with explanation or conscious disclosure. I like the mystery of them, imagining the reasons why a person has chosen to get this or that permanently embedded beneath their skin… I’m sure incidental pictures of mine will turn up, though! Honestly, I’m not even sure it’s finished yet. I like that element of tattoos, too: a piece in progress, something you can always rework and add to. (Subtracting, though, that’s harder!)

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