Here are extracts from my Live Journal.

Changes 16/11/02

Sometimes there's a feeling which comes suddenly , in a second. Like the earth has shifted on its axis, a jolt, a gasp, a spasm in it's spin, albeit brief as a starlight blink. But everything changes. A shift of focus, a missed heartbeat, a skipping of pulse.
A flash of insight into another dimension. God turning a page.

Exuberance 4/12/02

And I love each breath, each pulsing surge of life, the good, the bad, the wonder never ceases to amaze me. And people say'You're wired',and I say 'Oh yes!' and try to look over the wall.

Fireflies 20/1/03

Each light circling tight
In it’s personal orbit
Releases a hopeful shimmer.
A magnetic dance
Of hope
Around a satellite of fear.
That keeps it alone.

War 3/2/03

Tenacious talons seize the reins of dominion,
the Eagle soars over desert lands
His beak a warhead of avarice.

Freedom 2/6/04

Well, where were we..ah yes...well that was an amazing 6 months , the hardest 6 months of my life. A divorce, two apartment changes. And now, everything is so different, my life feels wide. And so, this is peace. This attic is so much a gift to me. I sit up here aloft like some new age Lady of Shallot, watching the traffic and people passing by below, the view of the hills in the distance ( and their ever changing moods), making my art work..( oh thank God for my art work).It saved my sanity I guess, well almost..and now it's easing me quietly through this transition and I clutch it tightly to me like a drunk clutches his precious booze.
And we resign ourselves to be alone, barely able to allow ourselves to believe there is anyone out there with a long enough ladder to reach this heart which still kind of seeps; though the wounds are healing.. slowly forming hard edged scars on my soul. We don't dwell, though each morning tears bring relief from vivid nightmares.

Always loved Tennyson, his trying to convey that ineffable idea of " my own infinite Nature and torment My Spirit with a fruitless discontent ..."But at least any torment now, is of my own making and not one goaded and squeezed breathless by some physcotic.

Art - Exhibiting 20/11/04

For years my art was a gift , easing me through long, lonely hours, and now it's taking a step out, into the world. It feels almost like taking a child to school on their first day, reluctant to leave go of their hand because they are so precious.But you know the time has come, and you let go a little and wait and hope that all the love and nurture you have poured into the child will be enough for them to fly on their own.
Everything happens in its own time: the times we try to push or force against our own truth take us the longest and most painful pathways in life.
It is wonderful to find such peace, and to feel others enjoy the strength of that positivity and jump into the flow, swimming alongside you as life's current, ever exciting, carries us along to new moments of inspiration and joy.

Birds 17/7/05

Yesterday I went for a walk in the woods,over fields, and allowed the wind to blow over me, through me to carry away the pain and stress that seems to have been threatening to overwhelm me lately. And in those times the only the thing that always eventually comes to the fore, to ease that precious feeling of peace back-is my art work.Always faithful, patient and obligingly reflective, without this catharsis I think I truly would be flying in the wind.
I wrote a song, flying through storms...the words don't entirly reflect my life but the general theme does.
From my attic window now I see the swifts playing, swooping in the quiet stillness of the morning before the road heaves itself into a growling, thundering drone. Birds ..there's always something about birds in flight that comforts me.
Songs about birds...zakk wyldes' like a bird'...Poes' bird of prey'..and that reggae song...' baby don't worry, bout a thing...cos every little thing ..gonna be alright'{ the song has birds in it somewhere though they are sitting on a doorstep}.

Paper 15/9/05

Working in a hospital one cannot avoid pain, it glares or gazes at you from almost every bed. Trying to counter it with a smile, a kind word...feels inadequate and almost cruel as you carry on your way, about your work, almost feeling embarassed about your ability to walk away with a brisk stride and purpose..leaving behind those whose ability to walk away has been left only one final journey.

One elderly lady today was sat at her bed. As I went about my work, asking if she would like the tv turning on she said' No, thank you, I just want to draw.'

Looking down I could see the piece of paper that was the ward menu on her tray, it had been turned over and the blank side covered with sketches of faces and flowers,figures and trees.

" I just want to draw," she said again" But there is no paper"

It made me feel so sad.

(but oh yes there WILL be paper....and there was ;))

In the news 22/12/05

I was featured in the newspaper, it was nice, and though being an artist involves some self promotion (so they tell me), I still don't feel comfortable with it at all. It's great when people enjoy my work but having people come up to me in the town, even in the dentist, is a little disconcerting...I also have more admiration for those who are more frequently photographed ,as on mine I seem to be wearing the expression of a bewildered trout.

Another gallery visit today- more sales and a purse plump with pride. I can feel a reaching, growing, pleasant feeling thats somehow tinged with sadness. Sadness I can't explain. Maybe the inner world I always wanted to share and reach people from is being eked of that comforting solitude now, and the sadness is a kind of mourning for that still, quiet place I could lose myself in so easily. My life, the world around me, has been dark,

Art is my light. It comes from inside.

Gallery 7/10/06

I have an Art Gallery now. Yes, me.. a small firefly drifting on the breath of destiny. An Art Gallery with wonderful people and gorgeous art work, with laughter and people talking, visitors clutching precious packages of their creations.

Pinch me.

Almost broke, worn out, optimistic and so enjoying what is happening to me. I don't think I was ever so happy in my whole life.

Walking down to work each morning,to my own business, it still doesn't all feel quite real. I open the shuuters, put on the lights, haul out the home made signs and get to work. Suzy arrives, beaming smile and a click as the kettle goes on.

She watches as I swing from ladders, moving this, cleaning that, and I feel she is as happy as she ever was in her life too. The Gallery has a charm, a cosy, welcoming, almost grateful ambience as if it's walls are grateful for being adorned with such beauty.

The visitors arrive, looking around at the colourful display, one eye on the frizzy haired, middle aged, eccentric woman who offers them assistance, and their eyes seem to reflect they are wondering what drives her, whats the agenda of her passion?

Art saved me, from disappearing into a grey place in my mind.I feel driven to share the healing and regeneration and self expansion a connection with the creative self can accomplish.

Art is my light, it comes from inside.

Woke up @ 6am, worked out...laundry...went for a walk in the park. Sitting beside the small lake, one lone black swan approached me, staying in the water, just watching me and quietly grooming his plummage. And I had no bread or titbits, but he stayed and the other ducks and geese avoided him somehow. And then I figured, he was alone too, and saw that in me.When I rose to leave he turned his back, but I will go sit with him again.

27/2/07

Beds & Sheds

From under beds and hidden in sheds, the art comes into the gallery. Nervous hands revealing tentative treasures created when the night has been still, when the Parkinson shaking has eased for a moment, when the children are asleep,when the soul has felt a need to ease itself into that quiet bliss of creativity.
Each is wonderful.My passion never diminishing, indeed it seems to feed on it, urging and encouraging with undoubting faith.
I feel the future sometimes, it still scares me as I am about to delve into business land, contracts and mems & ats, in an effort to keep my place open. I know I will be sitting with the grey suits, pens poised over £ signs, sensing a prospect of investment and I kind of hate it.
It isn't selling my soul is it? Without this I won't be able to stay open, they will have nowhere else to go, and their work will mould away, tucked away once again, beneath beds, and in sheds.
The thought hurts, and sustains me.
I just wish some one was there to ..comfort me and whisper " it will be ok"...I get tired. I get afraid. It feels sometimes like it's all too much.

Then I remember, my other life. I wonder what drives me. I wonder how long I can keep going.