Sister drove us across country to see Auntie Mary, who at 100 years old still waves goodbye from her house with her silk scarf, is known by name at the restaurant and takes herself into town daily for a coffee. Tenacity, grit, will. So privileged to have such a role model in my life, and to have the benefit of so many year's of knowledge and experience to learn from. What is it we remember? Can't remember the name of where she went on honeymoon or what she wore for her wedding, but can sing the songs her husband sang when they danced together. Misses her mother, her family.
I fell down the stairs when we got home and hurt my back. Instantly catastrophised the situation (thinking about hospital, internal bleeding and other characteristically neurotic things)!and had to work to consciously calm myself down and not have a panic attack. Need to train myself to not be such a coward. Grateful that the stoics and Montaigne came immediately and unbidden to my aid but I don't know how effective they will be to me in an actual accident or where blood is involved.
If I wasn't so stubborn and arrogant I'd take measurements when I'm doing a copy and save myself the infinite anguish of repeated erasures and endless corrections.
Put the meat-sack through ten thousand paces in the garden to prevent my mind from going mad. It's taken me 27 years to apprehend the reality that my wellbeing is tied to my body, which I never usually think about. Enforced daily movement and exercise is a necessity not an option for me. It's like having a child, I have to consciously train myself to do things that are good for me. My natural instincts are more or less self destructive: to sit around all day, to procrastinate or to work until late in the night.
Slow learner, repeat my mistakes again and again. Driving is the lens through which can be seen the patterns of my life: didn't want to do it because it's outside my comfort zone, requires effort and responsibility, now I'm doing it I get flustered and make mistakes, but don't learn from them and improve. It's the same with my art, my career and my relationships. I can analyse it all abstractly but never modify my behaviour in the real world.
Hot September day. Curtains closed, worked all through it. High stress environment at home, I've regressed a decade and feel frustrated and useless.
Raphael kept his chalks sharp, his lines straight and his pressure even. I got impatient and rushed through with sloppy lines and blunt pencils.
Hot late summer day. Walked to the pub. Harvest dust in the air. Rose briar, blackberries, tractors harrowing the fields.
Tremendously tense, anxious and stressed because mum is here. Need my own place and my own autonomy once and for all.
Car ride with father to the bus station, hour-long bus to Cambridge to spend money maintaining an image of middle-class comfort having brunch on a hotel balcony in the sun, hour long bus back, driven home. Felt awfully ersatz, like a try-hard trying to impress someone.
Long shadows over ploughed fields and stubble. Dark green hedges, ivied oaks and yellow-brown fields. All industrialized, money-making monocultures that look benign, picturesque.
Stress of mum being here, wanting to play happy families.
I always live in a counterfactual reality, imagining infinite opportunity is just around the corner, that beautiful houses, nice cars and stable marriage is my right and that they will more or less fall at my feet. Jealousy, envy of all my friends who have these things so naturally and contentedly.
Paced the grounds. Plotted a birthday dinner and feverishly invited everyone I know in a craven attempt to prove my social worth and show various friends off to each other.
Dad says he is not comfortable identifying as middle class. Two of my exceedingly middle class friends called in for tea.
Achieved less today because I wasn't under any pressure. Despite saying yesterday that I wish I spent longer on my art, I didn't bother to use more of the day wisely.
Paced the garden like a caged animal rather than go for a walk and risk having to nod, smile, greet strangers.
Enjoying Montaigne. His essays feel like a polished, educated and more forthright version of my blogs.
Have lost a lot of discipline in my drawing. Just can't seem to get this copy right. The more I look at the original the more sophisticated I see it is. Eve's expression, the way she is clearly offering (not just holding) the apple, the way she is looking at it. Incredibly skilful. I wish I could come close; I can't even make a passable copy let alone create something comparable from scratch.
Resent that because of the need to work to make money my brain is constantly being wired with knowledge and skills I don't value, but other people do. I want to be a master at drawing, not at the crap I do to earn money, which I scorn wholeheartedly. Currently spend not much more than an hour on art a day, and many times that on work. I can feel it creeping into me and occupying space I want to reserve for being me.