Days

I can't concentrate whatsoever this morning. Can't write about Tessa today. I need to give her all my attention, as you do listening to a friend who needs you to listen, but I can't listen to her today. There are too many other voices in my head, actually they're not in my head, they feel as if they're in every part of my body.
Not today, Tessa.

So, when you can't write and this isn't about can't be bothered, it's really will mess up if write, then what to do? There's always something that can be done. I've found a family member, Jose Estevez living in London, aged fifteen in 1876. I could lose myself delving into that world, but not today either. Today I don't want to lose myself, I want to find myself. And some would say finding yourself is sorting out where you've come from, what your past means, who you are. Not today. Today I want to look forward. I'm going to Spain in just over a week's time. That's reality and I'm going to prepare for it today. The practical stuff. And by tonight, I will know that I am prepared. And tonight, at the Juba rehearsal I'm going to dance so hard I won't be able to think about past or future, only now. And then there is tomorrow.

Education

Quote by Plutarch:

"The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled."

Words

I've been very careless in the use of words today. Not many, not said in anger or venom or even love, just said, but written carelessly. I'm probably making exactly the same mistake right now, writing as the words come into my head and even when we think we've thought over them and they capture what we feel and want to say, then sometimes, in another's eyes, from another's viewpoint, they come out wrong and cause hurt or laughter, but not the intended reaction.

I remember writing about this in my final English dissertation through Stan Barstow novels and kitchen sink drama. My choice wasn't considered literary enough by my tutor, but in my pig-headedness, I went ahead anyway. One of the points was how when we say things aloud they never come out exactly as we feel and hear them. So nobody else can truly understand us. Many will disagree with this, saying, well, you just haven't tried hard enough to find the right words or to put the right words together. Some people will say that I do know and understand you. As if you fully understand yourself. The final book in his trilogy, "A Kind of Loving" was "The Right True End." Yup. Have to put those in the pile of "To Read Again."

Love - The Fact and the Fiction

Is it worth giving up all that you know and have for love? For something or someone you feel passionate about? Stepping off the cliff? Throwing yourself out of the airplane, exposing yourself to having the skin ripped off your bones and your heart yanked from its bed and dashed onto spikes.
Does that sound exciting or horrendous? Something you would do or run from doing? Does that sound a tad melodramatic?
It's what it would feel like if what you are stepping away from is comfortable and familiar and something you thought you could continue with for the rest of your life.
Tessa in Leaving Coty reaches this point. And thinking and talking about it and making lists of pros and cons of shoulds and shouldn'ts of rights and wrongs doesn't make any difference. When gut reaction and taking heed of what your body is physically crying out for, there seems to be no dilemma. In a world of rules, the body being emotionally sick or well is ignored. Increasingly, Tessa's body is telling her what to do. The thing is, in reality, not films or books, how many listen to that call? And in reality, not fiction, what happens to the other characters in the story? In a film, this, in real life, makes us see the consequences of our actions, looking on at devastation, we can see how this is reflected in our world. And does this help? Is this why A level questions ask how a Shakespeare text is relevent today? Is it relevent to make our decisions based on a play or a book or a film? Are our bodies, not our minds satisfied with that? Is one more important than the other to listen to?

John Rylands Library

Dappling sunlight on stone, empty staircases that curl in time upwards revealing a high roof looking down on curling stairs dappled with light and empty of sound or movement other than flickering beams holding the peace and the space and the air filled with memories.
Wood warm to the touch of your palms, smooth under the skin, amber, sandy, dark. Parquet underfoot, smooth and shiny and worn by feet over years or walking, strolling, pausing to look at shelves unreadable, books untouchable, ancient and set and decaying.
Dim lamps, suspended, doubly tiered hanging, lighting not for reading but gazing and strolling across wooden floors looking at gilded pages leading to dappling light through dusty panes showing grey Manchester sky.

It transforms the way we look at the world.

"It transforms the way we look at the world." This is what the presenter said about Van Gogh's paintings. After looking at them we will look at trees, the sky, our surroundings, the world differently.
Works for me. Makes me want to look at his paintings. If something we see or something we read or hear someone say, a few words, a few lyrics, the sound of a cello or a guitar or drum or voice, an image, a mix of colours, something suggested that we recognise but have never thought of expressing in such a way, isn't that what we all want? To look at the world and see the same scene differently from the day before?
I love watching films again and again and seeing something different each time, reading books for the same reason, hearing music, looking at a photograph or a painting. Seeing something different.
And transforming the way we look at the world implies that change is within. We change. Almost makes me cry, not because I don't like the way I see things now, but at the possibilites of seeing more. This is in danger of sounding a tad pretentious. A tad? I just want to see more. Simple. If looking at Van Gogh's paintings helps with this, then fab. I'm going.
And it's meant to be anyway, as a friend from university suggested when our 'three' meet up in London, it's ususally London as it's the easiest, then we should go to The Royal Academy and see the Van Gogh exhibition. So there's two connections there. Plus, I love the song "Vincent - Starry, starry, night" (I'm a sucker for songs like this) so for me, that's reason number three. Got to go. Oh and my youngest daughter did a wonderful portrait of him when she was in year one or two, bloody ear prominent. There for all to see in the gallery on our kitchen dining area wall. Properly framed as well.

The exhibition also shows Vincent's letters to his brother Theo explaining what he was doing, sketches included, to warrant the funding he received. They sound very different. I wonder if they really were. Elder and younger, businessman and artist, sane and insane. It's funny, well not funny, but, no, it is funny when you think about which one you'd rather be. The reality of living it and looking back at the work. Don't really want to think about the reality.
That's something else I read about the moments of looking on beauty, experiencing breathing in fresh air on a spring morning, say, for example, being worth the rest of the day being terrible. That's changing the sentiment into my words, but is a moment of happiness worth hours of misery?

Those Click Moments

I was in the kitchen, the radio was on, Radio 3 and the presenter started talking about William Blake and some sketches of his that have just been bought by the Tate and the reviews about them. Their 'darkness' was one of the words mentioned. And this went on to his poem beginning "And did those feet in ancient time.." which we know best sung as 'Jerusalem' and then I had that click moment. In Erosion I have a scene where Randolph, one of the main characters realises that nothing will be the same again. The land is lost, the way of life he loved is lost. It clicked and it's not a shouting moment, there are no rockets or illuminating light bulbs, just sadness because there is no point shouting about it. He's been violent and antagonistic and abusive all through the book until this point. And then that is it. Erosion. And it's quiet.
I love these moments when you know that is the right thing to do, it's the right choice. And the right choice for the character. I like Randolph and I want to give him dignity. Here, he gets it. From the radio.