Reflecting on the funeral and the need to use other's words to tell ourselves what we are feeling. Poets, readings, bible circumscribe and direct our response. Limited corpus of funeral-friendly texts to choose from, none of which were read in the person's lifetime. Practically the only time poetry is still relevant.
Grandma's funeral. Smell of the coffin, awkwardness of relations, natural ease of friends. Attempt to codify and socualize and contain the true horror of death. No other way though.
Walk in the Stour Valley. Frustrations of work and trying to get the order of service to print correctly.
Today's drawing didn't work because I primed the paper too dark for the silverpoint to show. The white conte crayon doesn't adhere to the surface.
Putting together the order of service for grandma's funeral has made her death very real. I'm sad that people who enter my life from now on will never meet her. I'm sad that if I ever have children she will never hold them. I'm sad that for the vicar, the undertakers, the florist, the death is one of innumerable others, to be endured and forgotten.
Managed to do very little today other than prepare some pages of a sketchbook with silverpoint ground and gouache.
Cut sweet peas perfume night air whilst drawing.
Ten year reunion of starting at university. Many triggers for my low self confidence. Everyone has houses, wives and husbands, careers. Feeling left behind.
More efforts to get more work. Introduction to Nietzsche. Only achieving an hour of drawing a day, yet averaged three when I was working in London. Spread thin and undisciplined.
Been focusing on trying to grow my business. Need to earn more and keep up with my friends and their normal, enviable lives.
Much to learn about line quality from Raphael.