So New Year's now been and gone and now one gets down to New Year's resolutions, cleansing diets and leaner selves. Well at least some people do. In the spirit of the New Year's resolution, in the hope of better things to come, I too have decided to find some resolutions though less of a giving up sort than a acquiring sort.
First, I have started reading again. I got a new book for Christmas - The Help - which was an excellent read. I finished the last 100 or so pages in one evening, so difficult to put down it was! I do enjoy reading, once you get into the habit of it. It also helps to stop that feeling that my brain is slowly but surely declining. It's much too early to get that feeling so keeping up the reading feels like it is helping. It is also helping to while time away now work has gone into a strange crawl of waiting for the moment of truth.
So on from one multi-million copy US best-seller to another, I am now reading - Three Cups of Tea - a book I got last Christmas. I have also ordered a couple more books. One fluffy one from Marian Keyes and a hopefully inspiring one from Elizabeth Gilbert. The DVD would have been better but well, a book takes up a bit more time and anyway, the DVD is too expensive having just been released. It's amazing what being able to buy cheap DVDs does to your expectations of what a DVD should cost.
The same goes with books.
Apart from taking up reading, I have also decided to try to bake more, seeing as I may not have the chance to do that in the future. I had a craving for Victoria Sponge yesterday evening and promptly searched for a recipe - what would one do without the internet! It was all well and good that I had a jar of raspberry jam for christmas too. However swopping double cream for single cream in the hope of reducing fatness resulted in a soppy frothy cream instead of proper cream. You learn something new every day! Otherwise it did turn out quite nicely even if it was very dome-shaped. Looking up baking forums this morning, there appear to be some remedies for this 'problem'. One is to reduce the amount of baking powder or to use half plain and half self-raising flour. A second suggests cooking it at a lower temperature.
That would take way too much time. I shall try the half plain and half self-raising flour remedy instead. Or I could just trim off one of the domes for the base. Maybe I should host a tea party since I have about 120 tea bags - yet another Christmas present.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Friday, December 31, 2010
31 December 2010
Pain has an element of blank;
it cannot recollect
When it began, or if there was
A time when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
...
Another era is coming to an end... and so I write again. It appears that 2009 must have been a good year, as appears 2010. Yet one can never judge a book by its cover; the absence of written evidence does not signify the absence of thoughts, be they fleeting or enduring.
Life seems, for some, to be a neverending dream and for others, a recurring nightmare. And then there are some of us who seem to live it out in a series of shorts. Or perhaps that is the case for everyone, the difference being whether one perceives the breaks and pauses in between the episodes of life that spring upon us, sometimes of our own doing, other times a twist of fate.
I feel the blank so keenly. It appeared suddenly again but I guess it never went away. It follows me around. It's just a matter of whether I perceive it or not. It is always there and when suddenly exposed, the vivid dreams that flooded my mind. All those nights wresting within, in the silence, in the emptiness, in the vast expanse of nothingness where everything is possible yet nothing is real. Or believed to be real. What is real?
it cannot recollect
When it began, or if there was
A time when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
...
Another era is coming to an end... and so I write again. It appears that 2009 must have been a good year, as appears 2010. Yet one can never judge a book by its cover; the absence of written evidence does not signify the absence of thoughts, be they fleeting or enduring.
Life seems, for some, to be a neverending dream and for others, a recurring nightmare. And then there are some of us who seem to live it out in a series of shorts. Or perhaps that is the case for everyone, the difference being whether one perceives the breaks and pauses in between the episodes of life that spring upon us, sometimes of our own doing, other times a twist of fate.
I feel the blank so keenly. It appeared suddenly again but I guess it never went away. It follows me around. It's just a matter of whether I perceive it or not. It is always there and when suddenly exposed, the vivid dreams that flooded my mind. All those nights wresting within, in the silence, in the emptiness, in the vast expanse of nothingness where everything is possible yet nothing is real. Or believed to be real. What is real?
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Wednesday, 18 June
Whoa ... in the blink of an eye, well sort of, time has passed very very quickly and it's 6 months since I last wrote. The months are passing quite quickly now and time is running out. At times I feel that I should struggle ...
do not go gently into that good night, rage, rage against the dying of the light ...
at other times I feel that I have come to the end of and era, that things have taken their course and it is time for me to leave this place I have learnt to associate with the notion of home ...
because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me ...
it still aches to look at the pictures but perhaps there is now some semblance of resignation, of recognition that it was not to be, it would not have been for much longer and it was good when it was whole, but what is left, the mere fragments that cut me, the shards that I hold onto, subconciously cling to, will simply have to be left to cut until the blood runs no more and even now, as I brace myself to face up to the reality of the expiring months, I feel the cold clarity of something that appears to be acceptance come on.
I have not moved on completely. I do not think I will ever move on but things do and I let myself be borne along the tide, paddling now and again, stopping to think about struggling now and again but somehow hoping that divine intervention will chart my course. I feel the threads straining and breaking and I am not sure if anyone notices. Of course not, I do not notice at times so how could they?
I don't know what there is to notice anyway really so I guess maybe suddenly one fine day, I will float away and it will be too late to remedy the situation.
What do they call it? Nature taking its course perhaps.
All the happy shiny people shine on.
do not go gently into that good night, rage, rage against the dying of the light ...
at other times I feel that I have come to the end of and era, that things have taken their course and it is time for me to leave this place I have learnt to associate with the notion of home ...
because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me ...
it still aches to look at the pictures but perhaps there is now some semblance of resignation, of recognition that it was not to be, it would not have been for much longer and it was good when it was whole, but what is left, the mere fragments that cut me, the shards that I hold onto, subconciously cling to, will simply have to be left to cut until the blood runs no more and even now, as I brace myself to face up to the reality of the expiring months, I feel the cold clarity of something that appears to be acceptance come on.
I have not moved on completely. I do not think I will ever move on but things do and I let myself be borne along the tide, paddling now and again, stopping to think about struggling now and again but somehow hoping that divine intervention will chart my course. I feel the threads straining and breaking and I am not sure if anyone notices. Of course not, I do not notice at times so how could they?
I don't know what there is to notice anyway really so I guess maybe suddenly one fine day, I will float away and it will be too late to remedy the situation.
What do they call it? Nature taking its course perhaps.
All the happy shiny people shine on.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
Well hello stranger. It's been a long time hasn't it? I almost feel like I've been gone for ages and years, not months have flown by without the time for thinking, reflecting, simply understanding what is happening instead of being borne along the tide.
On hindsight, perhaps this constant riding the wave is much preferable to having time to stop and think, to do things not related to work such as looking on facebook and knowing what is happening in other people's lives, well a particular person's life that I just can't not poke my nose into. Curiosity killed the cat. Play with fire and you get burned. Yes always the wise words, always the advice but we just don't learn do we? We keep playing with fire, we keep opening up those Pandora's boxes in our lives. There is something to be said of the Freudian notion of the death drive. At least she's from Cambridge, at least she's totally different. Well, at least I'd like to believe she's totally different. Let's just leave it as different, not better. Move on, yes I hear you shouting, Poppy. I hear you, I really do. I hear the Sandman too. All your words whirling in my head and believe you me I am trying to wrestle with these demons inside. I can hear you shouting through the thick mist but I can't untangle the stranglehold of these ghosts. Even though you might think I don't hear you and choose to wallow - I do not wallow and will not wallow. I simply choose not to participate... - but the truth is that I do. I do hear you. You must know that. You creep in and out of my consciousness and you read my mind. You live in my mind. You me we three are one.
With time everything fades
yes indeed that was something i said
for change is the only ever-unchanging thing
now doesn't that too have a familiar ring?
Yet the shadows of the past continue to haunt me
rising from the shallow graves of memory
now and again - returning to plague me.
...
Well there it's obviously going to take some more time. Another couple of years perhaps?
The problem with having one's emotional state so far divorced from the other states of mind, for instance that which concerns itself with career building and sense of self worth from what one achieves in the arena of work, is that when you stop focusing on the career building and all that, you collapse into a chasm as your emotional state is akin to an inner city slum compared to the skyscraper of a career you are busy building. Yet what can one do? I can't rid the slum and grime all in one day. It's been accummulated for years that I can't even keep track of its inhabitants anymore and I do not wish to postpone my skyscraper building just because of the existence of the slum.
I'm rationalising again. Or am I making excuses? I don't know. All I do know is that work is in my power and looking at the photograph of them two, hand in hand, smiling, makes me recall a poem I wrote back on 18 Feb 2002 ... does everything come full circle? How many circles are there? How many times will we find ourselves opening our hearts and reaching out only to be dropped from sky high to rock bottom? Is it worth it? Why should I trust anyone with my life? I've picked up the pieces, cut my hands with the broken shards and with this incomplete puzzle of myself I now venture to build a life again, why should I risk it all again? A constant low is a choice of moderation. At least I know I chose to be at a constant low. The constant state is what I crave. I crave stability, security, to feel safe. People are inconsistent. I do not trust anyone. Sometimes not even myself.
And that is when my very sense of self is questioned and rendered unstable ... the state which I fear the most perhaps, and I hate it when I compare other people to you, to what you were to me, what you are or what I perceive you to be ... I look at the photo and question do I really want to stay in the UK for another year? Risk a meeting, all our mutual friends ... oh go and stay with your Cambridge possy and leave me be.
no words to say but just a smile
hangs upon my lips for a while
but neither blind nor deaf am i
and it was killing me just to stand by
to watch in silence, to pretend, to lie
that my heart and soul were not begging to die.
for every move you took
every word you spoke
and every little loving look
assaulted my senses and made me choke.
i was swept off my feet that's true
and nothing's left but me, the fool
it was all a dream that has now fallen through
for i am no longer loved by you.
so go ahead and treat me rough
for fortune never seems to have enough
and even though i'm not that tough
one gets accustomed to life as chaff.
...
and today, I cry again for you.
On hindsight, perhaps this constant riding the wave is much preferable to having time to stop and think, to do things not related to work such as looking on facebook and knowing what is happening in other people's lives, well a particular person's life that I just can't not poke my nose into. Curiosity killed the cat. Play with fire and you get burned. Yes always the wise words, always the advice but we just don't learn do we? We keep playing with fire, we keep opening up those Pandora's boxes in our lives. There is something to be said of the Freudian notion of the death drive. At least she's from Cambridge, at least she's totally different. Well, at least I'd like to believe she's totally different. Let's just leave it as different, not better. Move on, yes I hear you shouting, Poppy. I hear you, I really do. I hear the Sandman too. All your words whirling in my head and believe you me I am trying to wrestle with these demons inside. I can hear you shouting through the thick mist but I can't untangle the stranglehold of these ghosts. Even though you might think I don't hear you and choose to wallow - I do not wallow and will not wallow. I simply choose not to participate... - but the truth is that I do. I do hear you. You must know that. You creep in and out of my consciousness and you read my mind. You live in my mind. You me we three are one.
With time everything fades
yes indeed that was something i said
for change is the only ever-unchanging thing
now doesn't that too have a familiar ring?
Yet the shadows of the past continue to haunt me
rising from the shallow graves of memory
now and again - returning to plague me.
...
Well there it's obviously going to take some more time. Another couple of years perhaps?
The problem with having one's emotional state so far divorced from the other states of mind, for instance that which concerns itself with career building and sense of self worth from what one achieves in the arena of work, is that when you stop focusing on the career building and all that, you collapse into a chasm as your emotional state is akin to an inner city slum compared to the skyscraper of a career you are busy building. Yet what can one do? I can't rid the slum and grime all in one day. It's been accummulated for years that I can't even keep track of its inhabitants anymore and I do not wish to postpone my skyscraper building just because of the existence of the slum.
I'm rationalising again. Or am I making excuses? I don't know. All I do know is that work is in my power and looking at the photograph of them two, hand in hand, smiling, makes me recall a poem I wrote back on 18 Feb 2002 ... does everything come full circle? How many circles are there? How many times will we find ourselves opening our hearts and reaching out only to be dropped from sky high to rock bottom? Is it worth it? Why should I trust anyone with my life? I've picked up the pieces, cut my hands with the broken shards and with this incomplete puzzle of myself I now venture to build a life again, why should I risk it all again? A constant low is a choice of moderation. At least I know I chose to be at a constant low. The constant state is what I crave. I crave stability, security, to feel safe. People are inconsistent. I do not trust anyone. Sometimes not even myself.
And that is when my very sense of self is questioned and rendered unstable ... the state which I fear the most perhaps, and I hate it when I compare other people to you, to what you were to me, what you are or what I perceive you to be ... I look at the photo and question do I really want to stay in the UK for another year? Risk a meeting, all our mutual friends ... oh go and stay with your Cambridge possy and leave me be.
no words to say but just a smile
hangs upon my lips for a while
but neither blind nor deaf am i
and it was killing me just to stand by
to watch in silence, to pretend, to lie
that my heart and soul were not begging to die.
for every move you took
every word you spoke
and every little loving look
assaulted my senses and made me choke.
i was swept off my feet that's true
and nothing's left but me, the fool
it was all a dream that has now fallen through
for i am no longer loved by you.
so go ahead and treat me rough
for fortune never seems to have enough
and even though i'm not that tough
one gets accustomed to life as chaff.
...
and today, I cry again for you.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Wednesday, 26 September 2007
The Sandman:
Facebook is both a blessing and a bane. She has chosen to cut herself constantly, regularly instead of being stabbed when turning a corner. I'm not sure that's better than complete avoidance.
The Poppy:
She's tried avoidance. She'd have to avoid the lot of them if she wanted to be free. Every one of those Imperial people, anyone connected to him ... even if she's on the other side of the world it would be pretty difficult. Memories are interwoven after all. She has chosen to remain connected and so she has to pay the price.
...
This is my letter to the world
that never wrote to me --
I know I made a choice, possibly not such a considered choice but I think I did my best, all things considered. I chose to stay in touch, I chose to remain close. I was ignored, you tried your best I know but it is my fault for not letting go. Jasmine tells me that I should stop being so thick-headed and I simply told her perhaps she could see this as my OCD. I have chosen to cut myself because I would rather know than not know and avoid and pretend that things have not moved on that you had never gone. JB tells me to get an Aston Martin and stop harping over a Ford Escort but maybe what I'm really doing is giving up driving.
I am tired and last night I lay in bed, tears in my eyes ... they sometimes come spontaneously like old friends coming to visit and I can't stop them. They don't stay long so it's ok. I have made friends with them now. I think of what people will never see and only pray that Jesus is carrying me. I feel the solitary silence deep inside. It is not really loneliness ... it is perhaps more akin to one who has accepted that loneliness has become the norm. This is what life is like - it doesn't mean that it won't be fulfilling but that it is a long road that you will take by yourself. You will feel very much by yourself, you will have many silences, no one can reach into your heart now. That key has been lost and that room inside you have boarded up and only dust and spiderwebs will now dwell within. You have closed the door and kept out the draught as well as you can. You can't give it to someone else. It was only for him. It was custom-made - no one else measures up.
So I've given up driving. I know he won't come back. LF sent a message to him about doing a curry night and that he could bring whoever he liked. Two years ago that whoever would have been me. Today it will be someone else. The girl he is currently dating. The girl from Cambridge. I grit my teeth and focus on work and think about Van Gogh when he was rejected by the girl he loved. Sorrow is a great friend of art. I pray that I have some scattering of genius. If nothing else I will work hard and try to keep as warm as possible. I will not wallow. I will fight on and stand tall. I will smile until the last drop of blood leaves my body. I will fall and get up myself. I will keep moving I must keep moving I will keep smiling I must keep going. I will keep myself going.
You died two years ago and left me behind. There is someone who looks a lot like you but he is different I am sure. I will never feel your touch again, never hold your hand again. I only wish where your body lies so I may see you and run to you and sit by you sometimes when things get too much when I can no longer hold back the tears when the spectres visit my dreams ... if you could only see. But then you are dead. You died two years ago.
I walk a lonely road
the only one I have ever known
don't know where it goes
but it's only me and I walk alone.
Facebook is both a blessing and a bane. She has chosen to cut herself constantly, regularly instead of being stabbed when turning a corner. I'm not sure that's better than complete avoidance.
The Poppy:
She's tried avoidance. She'd have to avoid the lot of them if she wanted to be free. Every one of those Imperial people, anyone connected to him ... even if she's on the other side of the world it would be pretty difficult. Memories are interwoven after all. She has chosen to remain connected and so she has to pay the price.
...
This is my letter to the world
that never wrote to me --
I know I made a choice, possibly not such a considered choice but I think I did my best, all things considered. I chose to stay in touch, I chose to remain close. I was ignored, you tried your best I know but it is my fault for not letting go. Jasmine tells me that I should stop being so thick-headed and I simply told her perhaps she could see this as my OCD. I have chosen to cut myself because I would rather know than not know and avoid and pretend that things have not moved on that you had never gone. JB tells me to get an Aston Martin and stop harping over a Ford Escort but maybe what I'm really doing is giving up driving.
I am tired and last night I lay in bed, tears in my eyes ... they sometimes come spontaneously like old friends coming to visit and I can't stop them. They don't stay long so it's ok. I have made friends with them now. I think of what people will never see and only pray that Jesus is carrying me. I feel the solitary silence deep inside. It is not really loneliness ... it is perhaps more akin to one who has accepted that loneliness has become the norm. This is what life is like - it doesn't mean that it won't be fulfilling but that it is a long road that you will take by yourself. You will feel very much by yourself, you will have many silences, no one can reach into your heart now. That key has been lost and that room inside you have boarded up and only dust and spiderwebs will now dwell within. You have closed the door and kept out the draught as well as you can. You can't give it to someone else. It was only for him. It was custom-made - no one else measures up.
So I've given up driving. I know he won't come back. LF sent a message to him about doing a curry night and that he could bring whoever he liked. Two years ago that whoever would have been me. Today it will be someone else. The girl he is currently dating. The girl from Cambridge. I grit my teeth and focus on work and think about Van Gogh when he was rejected by the girl he loved. Sorrow is a great friend of art. I pray that I have some scattering of genius. If nothing else I will work hard and try to keep as warm as possible. I will not wallow. I will fight on and stand tall. I will smile until the last drop of blood leaves my body. I will fall and get up myself. I will keep moving I must keep moving I will keep smiling I must keep going. I will keep myself going.
You died two years ago and left me behind. There is someone who looks a lot like you but he is different I am sure. I will never feel your touch again, never hold your hand again. I only wish where your body lies so I may see you and run to you and sit by you sometimes when things get too much when I can no longer hold back the tears when the spectres visit my dreams ... if you could only see. But then you are dead. You died two years ago.
I walk a lonely road
the only one I have ever known
don't know where it goes
but it's only me and I walk alone.
Sunday, 23 September 2007
When it is only you that holds onto a particular memory or set of memories from a given time in your life, you feel as though perhaps they could be no more than a figment of your imagination. Especially if those with whom you shared the time with and shared those memories with have now ceased to feature in your life and also have ceased to hold onto those memories. It is as if the past as you know it never happened and you only imagined it. As time erodes the details of those memories you hold so dear, that remind you of where you came from and what you knew and learnt, that defines and shapes your identity, doubts about what really happened creep into your consciousness at an alarming rate abd you begin to question if you ever lived the life you thought you did, if you ever went through those experiences, if you ever had the relationships you thought you had, if you ever felt the things you think you felt, if you are who you think you are ...
Who are you?
If everyone or at least the ones with whom you shared the most intimate and vulnerable parts of yourself now cease to acknowledge your existence or partake in being a part of your identity, if they appear to be completely indifferent to your life or death, if they are indifferent to your existence, how then can one not feel that one's sense of oneself and one's past might have been the fruit borne of an overactive imagination? A second life that you thought you lived, but perhaps never really did. There is no proof that you did. Only your memories. Do you believe what you remember or is it only what you think you remember? How do you believe such intangible things as thoughts? If no one else knows you exist and those who ought to know appear to have disappeared off the face of the earth then you have no way of remembering who you were ...
Then how do you move on to become who you will be when you don't even know who you are, when you have all the missing pieces forming gaping holes you cannot seem to patch up or ignore without the apparitions rising in your dreams, your restless sleep. How do you become whole when you never were to start with? How do you secure the door to your heart when you gave the key away to someone who has thrown it into the gutter?
If you didn't have the remaining pieces then perhaps you could and would have to start over from scratch but because you have pieces of yourself you know there are bits missing and how then do you cast away the past?
Perhaps we only need pieces of ourselves to survive but then again perhaps we need to find what's missing in order to live.
To have no history is to be adrift in the vast ocean of anonymity. To have no memory - and I refer to shared memories - could well mean you have no identity. Personal memories and thoughts if not remembered, are as good as non-existent. Shared memories anchor you to a social network, a community. They are like invisible bonds that persist when the details cease to exist. You may not remember exactly what you did with another but you feel a closeness from having shared experiences, shared your time, shared yourself. When these bonds are broken or thrown out, discarded and forgotten, the one who still holds on the other side and depends on the bonds to build their sense of self, now becomes like a building with its foundations ripped out.
Who are you? Where do you come from? Is there anyone out there? Who knows you? Who really knows you? I think therefore I am. I remember and am remembered therefore I exist. There is no good in being without existing in a wider context. No man is an island. Nor woman, boy or girl.
Who are you?
If everyone or at least the ones with whom you shared the most intimate and vulnerable parts of yourself now cease to acknowledge your existence or partake in being a part of your identity, if they appear to be completely indifferent to your life or death, if they are indifferent to your existence, how then can one not feel that one's sense of oneself and one's past might have been the fruit borne of an overactive imagination? A second life that you thought you lived, but perhaps never really did. There is no proof that you did. Only your memories. Do you believe what you remember or is it only what you think you remember? How do you believe such intangible things as thoughts? If no one else knows you exist and those who ought to know appear to have disappeared off the face of the earth then you have no way of remembering who you were ...
Then how do you move on to become who you will be when you don't even know who you are, when you have all the missing pieces forming gaping holes you cannot seem to patch up or ignore without the apparitions rising in your dreams, your restless sleep. How do you become whole when you never were to start with? How do you secure the door to your heart when you gave the key away to someone who has thrown it into the gutter?
If you didn't have the remaining pieces then perhaps you could and would have to start over from scratch but because you have pieces of yourself you know there are bits missing and how then do you cast away the past?
Perhaps we only need pieces of ourselves to survive but then again perhaps we need to find what's missing in order to live.
To have no history is to be adrift in the vast ocean of anonymity. To have no memory - and I refer to shared memories - could well mean you have no identity. Personal memories and thoughts if not remembered, are as good as non-existent. Shared memories anchor you to a social network, a community. They are like invisible bonds that persist when the details cease to exist. You may not remember exactly what you did with another but you feel a closeness from having shared experiences, shared your time, shared yourself. When these bonds are broken or thrown out, discarded and forgotten, the one who still holds on the other side and depends on the bonds to build their sense of self, now becomes like a building with its foundations ripped out.
Who are you? Where do you come from? Is there anyone out there? Who knows you? Who really knows you? I think therefore I am. I remember and am remembered therefore I exist. There is no good in being without existing in a wider context. No man is an island. Nor woman, boy or girl.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Monday, 17 September 2007
I'm back home after the introductory lecture this morning. It was a little disorganised but it was all right generally in relaying the information. In a way I already knew most of it but it's always good to be told again about the library, student services, study support and there was also a nice slide-show of the work produced in last year's graduation show by students on our Diploma course. It all looked quite professional. There were 2 people who went on to do masters courses after this diploma. It may be something I would consider but only if I have funding and also if I find that the job-search is not working out. First things first, I'm going to do the best I can on this course.
Meeting the course librarian was useful - we had a handout that listed all the shoe and accessories resources in the library. Looks good. We also met a design tutor who is taking the footwear people - he's called something that sounds like Chocolate and it wasn't because my tummy was rumbling. He is teaching at Polimoda too which is the Florentine Design school which is known for shoe and accessory design. How exciting. Which reminds me, I need to write my thank-you letters to my tutors on the Foundation for their reference letters though I didn't get the funding in the end. Oh well eh.
Looking back, I sometimes have doubts as to whether I should have done the foundation, mainly because of the expense but then weighing up the pros and cons, the pros definitely outweigh the cons and when conviction ebbs away I really need to remember the pros of having done a foundation in order to stick to my guns. I'd spent all my own savings from working 2 years in London on the Art and Design Foundation and the expense is a big thing that freaked me out completely when I started one year ago. If not for the expense then I think I would be completely fine. It's probably partly because I'm thinking about the possibility of doing a masters but then I think I'm jumping ahead too much in considering that when I've not even started on this year. The other thing is having spent a year on a foundation which is sort of extra time that has made me feel that I'm 'wasting' time and it gets a bit scary when I look at my other friends and see that they have put down money for houses, investments and all that. Then again, there are those who haven't and I mustn't compare what I have achieved with what they have achieved because it's like comparing apples and oranges. It's only because I have successfully completed the foundation that I am thinking that actually I could have perhaps not done a foundation but then actually, I wouldn't be at the same state of mind had I not done a foundation.
The good things about having done a foundation course is that I've had exposure to fine art and design basics as well. Especially the life drawing and visual studies training - that has been really useful and my sketchbooks are things I am proud of. That has definitely given me confidence and I have learnt a lot about my abilities and limitations as well, breaking free and loosening up my work being the main thing to improve on though I'm not sure if I'm ready to go completely wild yet - Dr H says that perhaps I need to let go and fall off the edge. Baby steps, I say. Design studies have been insightful too in terms of preparing mood-boards, analysis boards, illustrations and all that has given me a better idea of how to present my work, which I was pretty clueless about before. Apart from the skills and knowledge gained on the foundation, I'm also probably in a better emotional state to take on this course. I have a part-time job now which is good for my financial state and sense of security. I have made the transition from working life to student life and so I'm not as traumatised by the constraints as before. One year ago, it was quite difficult settling into the whole returning to education thing, and this time round I'm definitely more calm about it all. I've come to accept loneliness as a part of life as well ...
God give me the courage to change what I cannot accept, the serenity to accept what I cannot change and the wisdom to know the difference.
We keeping going no matter what. God willing, I will keep going, in spite of it all. Tomorrow I will go for my first formal lessons at Golden Lane ... !
Meeting the course librarian was useful - we had a handout that listed all the shoe and accessories resources in the library. Looks good. We also met a design tutor who is taking the footwear people - he's called something that sounds like Chocolate and it wasn't because my tummy was rumbling. He is teaching at Polimoda too which is the Florentine Design school which is known for shoe and accessory design. How exciting. Which reminds me, I need to write my thank-you letters to my tutors on the Foundation for their reference letters though I didn't get the funding in the end. Oh well eh.
Looking back, I sometimes have doubts as to whether I should have done the foundation, mainly because of the expense but then weighing up the pros and cons, the pros definitely outweigh the cons and when conviction ebbs away I really need to remember the pros of having done a foundation in order to stick to my guns. I'd spent all my own savings from working 2 years in London on the Art and Design Foundation and the expense is a big thing that freaked me out completely when I started one year ago. If not for the expense then I think I would be completely fine. It's probably partly because I'm thinking about the possibility of doing a masters but then I think I'm jumping ahead too much in considering that when I've not even started on this year. The other thing is having spent a year on a foundation which is sort of extra time that has made me feel that I'm 'wasting' time and it gets a bit scary when I look at my other friends and see that they have put down money for houses, investments and all that. Then again, there are those who haven't and I mustn't compare what I have achieved with what they have achieved because it's like comparing apples and oranges. It's only because I have successfully completed the foundation that I am thinking that actually I could have perhaps not done a foundation but then actually, I wouldn't be at the same state of mind had I not done a foundation.
The good things about having done a foundation course is that I've had exposure to fine art and design basics as well. Especially the life drawing and visual studies training - that has been really useful and my sketchbooks are things I am proud of. That has definitely given me confidence and I have learnt a lot about my abilities and limitations as well, breaking free and loosening up my work being the main thing to improve on though I'm not sure if I'm ready to go completely wild yet - Dr H says that perhaps I need to let go and fall off the edge. Baby steps, I say. Design studies have been insightful too in terms of preparing mood-boards, analysis boards, illustrations and all that has given me a better idea of how to present my work, which I was pretty clueless about before. Apart from the skills and knowledge gained on the foundation, I'm also probably in a better emotional state to take on this course. I have a part-time job now which is good for my financial state and sense of security. I have made the transition from working life to student life and so I'm not as traumatised by the constraints as before. One year ago, it was quite difficult settling into the whole returning to education thing, and this time round I'm definitely more calm about it all. I've come to accept loneliness as a part of life as well ...
God give me the courage to change what I cannot accept, the serenity to accept what I cannot change and the wisdom to know the difference.
We keeping going no matter what. God willing, I will keep going, in spite of it all. Tomorrow I will go for my first formal lessons at Golden Lane ... !
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