Forever faithful.
I wonder when that crosses a line and becomes an antipode for something so loving and awesome. Foolishly overtrusting or credulous to the point that being forever faithful means getting hurt in some way, emotionally, mentally, spiritually or physically. Then again when should one stay, or even how to stay, regardless of the aforementioned inflictions? How to keep that absolute faith? Perhaps this is a generally difficult moral question. And what about when it is the question of believing in God. Stay regardless? God will show the way in the end? I get confused.
Perhaps this is an analogy for this confusion but I think a dead man is stuck in his Corner Cottage. I hadn't even realised he was dead until the other day. I saw people, I'm guessing they were family, moving in and out of the pretty little cottage. I got a sense he was watching them but in my heart, or intuition I knew that he was dead. There was a quietness about these people as they went about their business. I wondered if they had been close with what was probably their dad.
I had never spoken to him apart from the odd tip of the head or a "good morning" in passing. I sensed something about him but goodness I sense a lot about a lot of people. Maybe my senses are super alert or maybe I am just paranoid. Who knows?
These people were traipsing in and out of the little cottage doors. Some items were going in the skip. A little brown, plastic rimmed kitchen clock had a notice stuck on it's face saying "please take me". It was leaning against the foot of the skip. Oh I wasn't standing there following every move. I actually passed this activity, as I went to and fro on my walks with LouLou. Oh no I wouldn't be so rude. I felt sad. The mood was sombre in their faces as they went about their duty. And then, after just two days they were gone. Corner Cottage, shut down, empty, a space created by old bricks, stillness, settling dust.
Except was it? He was still there. I knew it. I could feel him looking out through the net curtains. Stuck.
When I saw old Vic for his three times per week early morning lift to work, I enquired what had happened to the man in Corner Cottage. He said in his Hampshire village accent and gruff voice, "Oh he died some time before Christmas". I was rather surprised, I must say, as to I thought I had seen him and tipped a good morning to him. His usual, I can see him in my mind's eye right now, coming out of the little front door, doing something in the little fenced off area, turning round, maybe it was his rubbish bin. There was always something a-pottering being done. I had noticed that his hair had become longer and he looked sort of unkempt as a result. I wondered if he was clean actually. Previous to that I had always thought of him as perhaps rather strict about his appearance. Especially as he paid such attention to his garden. I knew because when the gate to the walled garden was left slightly ajar, I would sneak a look. It was delightfully, perfect. A little secret walled garden, just like the story from my childhood. Perhaps it's the magical memory and association that has created this sense of him still being at home.
But then the next morning, after everything had been finally locked up and just the net curtains left, that was the morning that I suddenly asked him why he was staying. He seemed to be waiting for someone. A son? That's my sense, a son to come home from somewhere. But these seemed silly thoughts, like the bluffing people, or so I cynically thought, standing on stage of the Christian Spiritual Church in Chawton, drawing on the hopeful, vulnerables. "I have a lady called Rose to speak to someone in the audience in this general area. Can anyone take this?". I expect they'll have to start changing the names as the generational changes occur. My grandmother (fathers side was called Rose). And M had once said there's a lady here giving me a rose. I wonder why they say "can anyone take this?" Why don;t they simply ask if this is familiar or does anyone know who this might be. Jargon. We all get caught up in it. It's like a short-cut or a slang yet it creates in-groups and out-groups. Sometimes I don't even understand what's meant at all but stick around long enough and it's possible to get a general gist. But then have I really understood or just think I understand, too shy or lacking in self esteem to actually ask if my interpretation is actually what is meant.
Maybe there is something in it after all as I have had things go across my mind such as the waiting and a son and the name John too. I will ask old Vic what he knows of Corner Cottage man's story.
I know he was a regular attendee at the Church. I think he was heavily involved in responsibilities as when I was bell ringing I would see him tidying and shuffling. That's what it looked like to me anyway. And I think he greeted people into the church for the service too.
I know no more. I noticed this morning that one of the nets has dropped slightly. How could that happen in an empty house? Perhaps someone visited it for the last things. Or maybe estate agents are taking potential buyers in to view it.
He's still there though. There is one room with no curtains. This seems strange to me. Why leave all the others and strip those particular windows completely bare. As I walk by late at night, it's that room I can almost see him looking out from, his face close to the window. It is often filled with the moonlight. The window I mean, not his face because that's not really there, just in my mind's eye. This morning, I felt he was deeper inside, not looking out. I thought he'd perhaps found his way out and away. I stood looking at the front door for quite some time. A little scared really but also compelled to look. I was waiting for LouLou, sniffing and scenting her way slowly, slowly, in a meandering way. So I had an excuse to be standing there. Just looking. And it was also very early so there was not a stir in the village. The sun was still coming up, despite a lie in. I do feel quite pious for early mornings now. I enjoy getting up earlier and going to bed earlier too. I feel as if there's much more of a day. I do feel tired today though as I pushed bedtime further out last night. I was watching a very silly American mini series Homeland. The acting of the woman and her storyline to me seems implausible but then what d I know as I've never worked for the CIA or whichever agency it's meant to be. She a special investigator of sorts. In the opening scenes she was wondering around Iraq, albeit her head covered and walked through hostile streets, unscathed at all. It's just not doing it for me. I will watch I expect to find out what happens to the good actor Daniel Lewis. The intriguing part of the story so far. A British actor being the main part in an American mini series that's hit it pretty big I believe. Now that's an interesting story in itself. And the situation between him and his wife, his return from being held captive for 8 years, the mental scars etc. I think it's all grossly underplayed but Daniel is playing the part well in my opinion.
So maybe that's why I sensed less this morning. Or maybe it's the bi-polarish things in my head slightly stirring and fizzling. ML noticed that I have been feeling very sad for lots of people recently. I am concerned for my neighbour who cannot afford to have his heating on. I feel pretty peeved as having given him food, albeit that I can't eat anymore, and then paying him to clean my car, inside and out, I think he went and spent money on booze. I wonder if he found money in my car too but was decent enough or perhaps too desperate for. If I was truly generous I'd let go of this and be OK with him spending the money on anything he wanted to spend it on. But I was wanting him to buy food and look after his dogs needs. He went out for an entire day leaving his dog at home. I have o idea where he went but it was mean I thought. And if it was having my money in his pocket that took him to booze and away from his responsibility - pah! My good deed back fired on my thinking. Why am I so negative in my thinking. I am glad that I was able to help despite my own poor bank balance. And I need to leave it at that.
I was very sad to hear JH's news. And I wonder how well he will take care of himself.
I was feeling sad for the Big Issue seller yesterday. Irish, homeless, no back teeth. A nice fella really. Down on his luck. I bought a Big Issue from him and then he promptly started telling AM about how beautiful her eyes were. What about me? I have to laugh as that is how low my self esteem is. I want the fella to see the beauty in me too.
I can't remember now who else I've been feeling very sad about. There has been an intensity which I think may be the brain cells and chemicals doing something. Maybe that's why I feel a super sensitivity around Corner Cottage and actually he's not there at all. I prayed this morning for him to be freed. I said to him he was permitted to go and that he didn't need to wait. I know it will all be resolved if he can just let go. Enmeshed, unselfishly devoted but at a cost of being stuck between worlds. I will endeavour to learn more about him. People will think I'm strange perhaps. But in the research perhaps I something will become apparent. Who knows? If there's more to tell I will write in my blog.
Yesterdays FA meeting was great. I hadn't realised that one person hadn't reached 90 days. There was literally B and myself who could share. I chaired the meeting which was a real honour. And I felt able to be myself. Silly at times. I shamed myself at one point thinking I had shamed B who had arrived slightly late. I hadn't thought that at all until after opening my mouth. I will hope to be more mindful.
I am interested to notice how having been given my target weight and later enquiring how it's calculated, i.e. 100 pounds for every 5 foot and then 5 pounds for every inch thereafter = 125 pounds for me, that B seeing me yesterday seems to be questioning the target weight. I didn't ask anything or even say that I feel threatened by her questions. My fear is that having decided on 125 pounds now that she has said it, I don't want to deviate from that. I had been thinking before I knew that target that I was getting close and even felt disappointed that there was so much more to lose. But then it's become about achieving that and how much thinner I will be. I don;t want to stop prior to that weight. I think this is me taking control and a slight anorexic attitude. I had also noticed that during the week off I had been delaying my breakfast until after my walk with LouLou, then a slight further delay by feeding her first. Practical really but my thinking involves stretching out as I may lose more weight and get thinner. Interesting how quickly these thoughts infiltrate. I spoke about it with B this morning. And also the wanting of food last night. I could have taken myself to be but no I insisted that I would stay up late. Already tired and strained from the low self esteem realisation yesterday, plus a painful irritable bowel day but would I listen to my tiredness? No! Instead I wanted to eat the whole time. I didn't make any calls because I thought it was too late. I was reminded this morning that I can call people in the US. I will make some intro calls this afternoon. I called H in OZ already and that was nice to catch up with her. She's been unwell. It was an opportunity to mention that I bumped into ex-client A. In a very busy Waterloo station we came face to face. She seemed to go passed me but I stopped her. Now ethically I'm not certain that was appropriate but I couldn't help myself. She looked as pretty as ever but as large as ever. I wonder if she is still using? I broke my anonymity and said that I was on my way to the FA meeting and perhaps she'd like to try it sometime. I also suggested that she comes along to Aftercare. She was off to meet up with the girls which was a lovely thing to hear as she was a worry with her isolating tendency. I hope she comes to Aftercare. I hope it will be OK to break my anonymity further and suggest FA. I think V will be pissed off at me as she doesn't work on the food addiction bases. She treats it as a disorder. I think there are both as separate things and would love to find a way to research this.
Anyway the meeting was lovely. We had lunch together which as always was pleasant. And then I left on foot heading towards Victoria from Canon Street. I walked along to Fleet Street and then too the number 11 dismounting as he turned off towards Victoria. I then walked through the winding streets to Millbank to meet Am at the Tate Britain.
I enjoyed the exhibition. With a focus on Picasso in Britain and his influence on British art, there were some wonderful pieces of his work and scattered with work by Ben Nicholson, Duncan Grant, Wyndham Lewis, Henry Moore, Francis Bacon Graham Sutherland and David Hockney.
I particularly loved a charcoal sketch of a young man leading a horse. And the watercolour stage costume designs were exquisite. In my opinion he was a truly talented artists with a flair to try on for size many different styles and skills. He was prolific. He was also promiscuous. Why is it women, well women like me are attracted to these arty men who are lovers of women generally and loyal to none? It's not sempre fidelis in their mind. They have a flurry of women at their beckoning and take full advantage. Some people would day how can a man resist? But I say why can't a man resist and remain decent, and honour his commitment. Make no commitment then they don't have to honour it in case something better comes along. Pah!
I was bemused by myself with the street Big Issue seller. There was the Irish twinkle in his eye despite his situation. As I said to B in my deep despair from not being the one to be flirted with even by someone who I am not attracted to for many reasons, in the past I would go all out to get that man's attention. I could easily end up living on the streets or buying into whatever their lifestyle and beliefs were just to be made to feel wanted. Deep inside though I would know I had manipulated it and abandoned all sense of self and soul in the process. So losing the little esteem reserves I had. I have been in many a dark place in quest of that esteem from men. I ask You God to help me to stay safe from the behaviours - thank you God for removing me from the risk today. And please God can you help me to develop my esteem. I know it's changing. AM notices a big change in me already. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what but verbalised it as being more grounded. It was interesting too her telling me how I was disappearing during 2010. She knew I wasn't being entirely open with her and she didn't know if it was to do with JH or SL. But all did not seem well and she felt afraid for me yet powerless to do anything. All she could do was hope that wold come back to her. I am never sure how much she values me as a friend but actually how can anyone value in the way I want. That is, total commitment that everything will be as it is forever and that I am top importance. That's unhealthy. But I do hope for friendship that means no malicious intent or gossip and that the person in reliable, dependable and will not disappear at the drop of a hat. Is that the saying? Well it's a good one if not.
I notice that the friendship with ML has altered a lot. But with her I do not feel so certain that she's still there regardless of the changes in our lives right now. Some people it matters less. I wonder why it matters more. I think it's good that I care and it matters. I need to learn how t care not to care so much. But I think there is a balance in that, just like the sempre fidelis confusion I have. It's not easy come easy go, people are to be valued and not just tossed away as things get difficult or challenging or changes occur. This is a long way from the man with the gift of the Blarney. I've kissed the Blarney stone. Bet you couldn't tell, as I gut laugh at my quiet demeanour, always.
Picasso
So some pieces of work -
Guernica - only because it's so famous. I saw some sketches of his preparation for this and the poor dying horse with his angular tongue was torturous to look at. The entire thing is quite amazing yet really so pitiful and violent. AB was impressed that it was there, at first questioning that it was. I doubted myself but knew I had seen it. She said if couldn't have been the original version. But it was surely. They wouldn't be showing a copy in the Tate Britain now - come on!
Naked Woman in a Red Chair
This glowed actually. The colours in this image do not come anywhere near the glowing colours of the original. It was mesmerisingly sensual and the glow was her beauty I felt. Or the beauty he saw in her
The watercolours of the costume and scenery design for Diaghilev's ballet The Three Cornered Hat were exquisite ...
The curtain ...
The Chinese Conqueror
The Three Dancers
I loved this by Henry Moore. I wanted to touch it. I'm sure they were carved to be touched. This is how I'd like my bookends to be.
And I really liked this of David Hockney naked reaching gently across to Picasso - the curator had suggested this was a bearing of the soul and thanks from Hockney to Picasso for the influence Picasso had had on him
There was an oil by Ben Nicholson of his lover Barbara Hepworth in a style influenced by Picasso but I cannot find an image of it online. He had scratched the essence of Hepworth into the oil. It was then like a reverse negative of white scratched into black. I was quite delighted by it. I could feel love I think. Perhaps I am just a romantic. And yet the other way round I could feel love from Hepworth for Moore yet her work wasn't there, clearly not so influenced by Picasso.
Others like Bacon and so on, didn't enthral me. It was interesting to see their work there but I didn't linger over them int eh same way.
And of course I loved the Weeping Woman
Until the next time
Bliss
XX
I wonder when that crosses a line and becomes an antipode for something so loving and awesome. Foolishly overtrusting or credulous to the point that being forever faithful means getting hurt in some way, emotionally, mentally, spiritually or physically. Then again when should one stay, or even how to stay, regardless of the aforementioned inflictions? How to keep that absolute faith? Perhaps this is a generally difficult moral question. And what about when it is the question of believing in God. Stay regardless? God will show the way in the end? I get confused.
Perhaps this is an analogy for this confusion but I think a dead man is stuck in his Corner Cottage. I hadn't even realised he was dead until the other day. I saw people, I'm guessing they were family, moving in and out of the pretty little cottage. I got a sense he was watching them but in my heart, or intuition I knew that he was dead. There was a quietness about these people as they went about their business. I wondered if they had been close with what was probably their dad.
I had never spoken to him apart from the odd tip of the head or a "good morning" in passing. I sensed something about him but goodness I sense a lot about a lot of people. Maybe my senses are super alert or maybe I am just paranoid. Who knows?
These people were traipsing in and out of the little cottage doors. Some items were going in the skip. A little brown, plastic rimmed kitchen clock had a notice stuck on it's face saying "please take me". It was leaning against the foot of the skip. Oh I wasn't standing there following every move. I actually passed this activity, as I went to and fro on my walks with LouLou. Oh no I wouldn't be so rude. I felt sad. The mood was sombre in their faces as they went about their duty. And then, after just two days they were gone. Corner Cottage, shut down, empty, a space created by old bricks, stillness, settling dust.
Except was it? He was still there. I knew it. I could feel him looking out through the net curtains. Stuck.
When I saw old Vic for his three times per week early morning lift to work, I enquired what had happened to the man in Corner Cottage. He said in his Hampshire village accent and gruff voice, "Oh he died some time before Christmas". I was rather surprised, I must say, as to I thought I had seen him and tipped a good morning to him. His usual, I can see him in my mind's eye right now, coming out of the little front door, doing something in the little fenced off area, turning round, maybe it was his rubbish bin. There was always something a-pottering being done. I had noticed that his hair had become longer and he looked sort of unkempt as a result. I wondered if he was clean actually. Previous to that I had always thought of him as perhaps rather strict about his appearance. Especially as he paid such attention to his garden. I knew because when the gate to the walled garden was left slightly ajar, I would sneak a look. It was delightfully, perfect. A little secret walled garden, just like the story from my childhood. Perhaps it's the magical memory and association that has created this sense of him still being at home.
But then the next morning, after everything had been finally locked up and just the net curtains left, that was the morning that I suddenly asked him why he was staying. He seemed to be waiting for someone. A son? That's my sense, a son to come home from somewhere. But these seemed silly thoughts, like the bluffing people, or so I cynically thought, standing on stage of the Christian Spiritual Church in Chawton, drawing on the hopeful, vulnerables. "I have a lady called Rose to speak to someone in the audience in this general area. Can anyone take this?". I expect they'll have to start changing the names as the generational changes occur. My grandmother (fathers side was called Rose). And M had once said there's a lady here giving me a rose. I wonder why they say "can anyone take this?" Why don;t they simply ask if this is familiar or does anyone know who this might be. Jargon. We all get caught up in it. It's like a short-cut or a slang yet it creates in-groups and out-groups. Sometimes I don't even understand what's meant at all but stick around long enough and it's possible to get a general gist. But then have I really understood or just think I understand, too shy or lacking in self esteem to actually ask if my interpretation is actually what is meant.
Maybe there is something in it after all as I have had things go across my mind such as the waiting and a son and the name John too. I will ask old Vic what he knows of Corner Cottage man's story.
I know he was a regular attendee at the Church. I think he was heavily involved in responsibilities as when I was bell ringing I would see him tidying and shuffling. That's what it looked like to me anyway. And I think he greeted people into the church for the service too.
I know no more. I noticed this morning that one of the nets has dropped slightly. How could that happen in an empty house? Perhaps someone visited it for the last things. Or maybe estate agents are taking potential buyers in to view it.
He's still there though. There is one room with no curtains. This seems strange to me. Why leave all the others and strip those particular windows completely bare. As I walk by late at night, it's that room I can almost see him looking out from, his face close to the window. It is often filled with the moonlight. The window I mean, not his face because that's not really there, just in my mind's eye. This morning, I felt he was deeper inside, not looking out. I thought he'd perhaps found his way out and away. I stood looking at the front door for quite some time. A little scared really but also compelled to look. I was waiting for LouLou, sniffing and scenting her way slowly, slowly, in a meandering way. So I had an excuse to be standing there. Just looking. And it was also very early so there was not a stir in the village. The sun was still coming up, despite a lie in. I do feel quite pious for early mornings now. I enjoy getting up earlier and going to bed earlier too. I feel as if there's much more of a day. I do feel tired today though as I pushed bedtime further out last night. I was watching a very silly American mini series Homeland. The acting of the woman and her storyline to me seems implausible but then what d I know as I've never worked for the CIA or whichever agency it's meant to be. She a special investigator of sorts. In the opening scenes she was wondering around Iraq, albeit her head covered and walked through hostile streets, unscathed at all. It's just not doing it for me. I will watch I expect to find out what happens to the good actor Daniel Lewis. The intriguing part of the story so far. A British actor being the main part in an American mini series that's hit it pretty big I believe. Now that's an interesting story in itself. And the situation between him and his wife, his return from being held captive for 8 years, the mental scars etc. I think it's all grossly underplayed but Daniel is playing the part well in my opinion.
So maybe that's why I sensed less this morning. Or maybe it's the bi-polarish things in my head slightly stirring and fizzling. ML noticed that I have been feeling very sad for lots of people recently. I am concerned for my neighbour who cannot afford to have his heating on. I feel pretty peeved as having given him food, albeit that I can't eat anymore, and then paying him to clean my car, inside and out, I think he went and spent money on booze. I wonder if he found money in my car too but was decent enough or perhaps too desperate for. If I was truly generous I'd let go of this and be OK with him spending the money on anything he wanted to spend it on. But I was wanting him to buy food and look after his dogs needs. He went out for an entire day leaving his dog at home. I have o idea where he went but it was mean I thought. And if it was having my money in his pocket that took him to booze and away from his responsibility - pah! My good deed back fired on my thinking. Why am I so negative in my thinking. I am glad that I was able to help despite my own poor bank balance. And I need to leave it at that.
I was very sad to hear JH's news. And I wonder how well he will take care of himself.
I was feeling sad for the Big Issue seller yesterday. Irish, homeless, no back teeth. A nice fella really. Down on his luck. I bought a Big Issue from him and then he promptly started telling AM about how beautiful her eyes were. What about me? I have to laugh as that is how low my self esteem is. I want the fella to see the beauty in me too.
I can't remember now who else I've been feeling very sad about. There has been an intensity which I think may be the brain cells and chemicals doing something. Maybe that's why I feel a super sensitivity around Corner Cottage and actually he's not there at all. I prayed this morning for him to be freed. I said to him he was permitted to go and that he didn't need to wait. I know it will all be resolved if he can just let go. Enmeshed, unselfishly devoted but at a cost of being stuck between worlds. I will endeavour to learn more about him. People will think I'm strange perhaps. But in the research perhaps I something will become apparent. Who knows? If there's more to tell I will write in my blog.
Yesterdays FA meeting was great. I hadn't realised that one person hadn't reached 90 days. There was literally B and myself who could share. I chaired the meeting which was a real honour. And I felt able to be myself. Silly at times. I shamed myself at one point thinking I had shamed B who had arrived slightly late. I hadn't thought that at all until after opening my mouth. I will hope to be more mindful.
I am interested to notice how having been given my target weight and later enquiring how it's calculated, i.e. 100 pounds for every 5 foot and then 5 pounds for every inch thereafter = 125 pounds for me, that B seeing me yesterday seems to be questioning the target weight. I didn't ask anything or even say that I feel threatened by her questions. My fear is that having decided on 125 pounds now that she has said it, I don't want to deviate from that. I had been thinking before I knew that target that I was getting close and even felt disappointed that there was so much more to lose. But then it's become about achieving that and how much thinner I will be. I don;t want to stop prior to that weight. I think this is me taking control and a slight anorexic attitude. I had also noticed that during the week off I had been delaying my breakfast until after my walk with LouLou, then a slight further delay by feeding her first. Practical really but my thinking involves stretching out as I may lose more weight and get thinner. Interesting how quickly these thoughts infiltrate. I spoke about it with B this morning. And also the wanting of food last night. I could have taken myself to be but no I insisted that I would stay up late. Already tired and strained from the low self esteem realisation yesterday, plus a painful irritable bowel day but would I listen to my tiredness? No! Instead I wanted to eat the whole time. I didn't make any calls because I thought it was too late. I was reminded this morning that I can call people in the US. I will make some intro calls this afternoon. I called H in OZ already and that was nice to catch up with her. She's been unwell. It was an opportunity to mention that I bumped into ex-client A. In a very busy Waterloo station we came face to face. She seemed to go passed me but I stopped her. Now ethically I'm not certain that was appropriate but I couldn't help myself. She looked as pretty as ever but as large as ever. I wonder if she is still using? I broke my anonymity and said that I was on my way to the FA meeting and perhaps she'd like to try it sometime. I also suggested that she comes along to Aftercare. She was off to meet up with the girls which was a lovely thing to hear as she was a worry with her isolating tendency. I hope she comes to Aftercare. I hope it will be OK to break my anonymity further and suggest FA. I think V will be pissed off at me as she doesn't work on the food addiction bases. She treats it as a disorder. I think there are both as separate things and would love to find a way to research this.
Anyway the meeting was lovely. We had lunch together which as always was pleasant. And then I left on foot heading towards Victoria from Canon Street. I walked along to Fleet Street and then too the number 11 dismounting as he turned off towards Victoria. I then walked through the winding streets to Millbank to meet Am at the Tate Britain.
I enjoyed the exhibition. With a focus on Picasso in Britain and his influence on British art, there were some wonderful pieces of his work and scattered with work by Ben Nicholson, Duncan Grant, Wyndham Lewis, Henry Moore, Francis Bacon Graham Sutherland and David Hockney.
I particularly loved a charcoal sketch of a young man leading a horse. And the watercolour stage costume designs were exquisite. In my opinion he was a truly talented artists with a flair to try on for size many different styles and skills. He was prolific. He was also promiscuous. Why is it women, well women like me are attracted to these arty men who are lovers of women generally and loyal to none? It's not sempre fidelis in their mind. They have a flurry of women at their beckoning and take full advantage. Some people would day how can a man resist? But I say why can't a man resist and remain decent, and honour his commitment. Make no commitment then they don't have to honour it in case something better comes along. Pah!
I was bemused by myself with the street Big Issue seller. There was the Irish twinkle in his eye despite his situation. As I said to B in my deep despair from not being the one to be flirted with even by someone who I am not attracted to for many reasons, in the past I would go all out to get that man's attention. I could easily end up living on the streets or buying into whatever their lifestyle and beliefs were just to be made to feel wanted. Deep inside though I would know I had manipulated it and abandoned all sense of self and soul in the process. So losing the little esteem reserves I had. I have been in many a dark place in quest of that esteem from men. I ask You God to help me to stay safe from the behaviours - thank you God for removing me from the risk today. And please God can you help me to develop my esteem. I know it's changing. AM notices a big change in me already. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what but verbalised it as being more grounded. It was interesting too her telling me how I was disappearing during 2010. She knew I wasn't being entirely open with her and she didn't know if it was to do with JH or SL. But all did not seem well and she felt afraid for me yet powerless to do anything. All she could do was hope that wold come back to her. I am never sure how much she values me as a friend but actually how can anyone value in the way I want. That is, total commitment that everything will be as it is forever and that I am top importance. That's unhealthy. But I do hope for friendship that means no malicious intent or gossip and that the person in reliable, dependable and will not disappear at the drop of a hat. Is that the saying? Well it's a good one if not.
I notice that the friendship with ML has altered a lot. But with her I do not feel so certain that she's still there regardless of the changes in our lives right now. Some people it matters less. I wonder why it matters more. I think it's good that I care and it matters. I need to learn how t care not to care so much. But I think there is a balance in that, just like the sempre fidelis confusion I have. It's not easy come easy go, people are to be valued and not just tossed away as things get difficult or challenging or changes occur. This is a long way from the man with the gift of the Blarney. I've kissed the Blarney stone. Bet you couldn't tell, as I gut laugh at my quiet demeanour, always.
Picasso So some pieces of work -
Guernica - only because it's so famous. I saw some sketches of his preparation for this and the poor dying horse with his angular tongue was torturous to look at. The entire thing is quite amazing yet really so pitiful and violent. AB was impressed that it was there, at first questioning that it was. I doubted myself but knew I had seen it. She said if couldn't have been the original version. But it was surely. They wouldn't be showing a copy in the Tate Britain now - come on!
Naked Woman in a Red Chair
This glowed actually. The colours in this image do not come anywhere near the glowing colours of the original. It was mesmerisingly sensual and the glow was her beauty I felt. Or the beauty he saw in her
The watercolours of the costume and scenery design for Diaghilev's ballet The Three Cornered Hat were exquisite ...
The curtain ...
The Three DancersI loved this by Henry Moore. I wanted to touch it. I'm sure they were carved to be touched. This is how I'd like my bookends to be.
And I really liked this of David Hockney naked reaching gently across to Picasso - the curator had suggested this was a bearing of the soul and thanks from Hockney to Picasso for the influence Picasso had had on him
There was an oil by Ben Nicholson of his lover Barbara Hepworth in a style influenced by Picasso but I cannot find an image of it online. He had scratched the essence of Hepworth into the oil. It was then like a reverse negative of white scratched into black. I was quite delighted by it. I could feel love I think. Perhaps I am just a romantic. And yet the other way round I could feel love from Hepworth for Moore yet her work wasn't there, clearly not so influenced by Picasso.
Others like Bacon and so on, didn't enthral me. It was interesting to see their work there but I didn't linger over them int eh same way.
And of course I loved the Weeping Woman
Until the next time
Bliss
XX
