I always have mixed feelings when I sell a piece of my artwork that I’m fond of. On the one hand, I’m delighted someone likes it enough to want to buy it, but part of me doesn’t want to let it go. After all, we make artworks primarily to please ourselves (or am I being naive?), and I was pleased with this when I finished it.
But, it was in the shop to sell, so I can’t really complain. And I’m resigned to it going, now. Indeed, it’s already been dispatched and I hope it will give pleasure in its new home. The purchaser appears to be an Italian priest, and so it should be in an appropriate setting.
My sharp-eyed viewer will have noticed I’ve posted a few book reviews but almost nothing about my own writing recently. It’s still rather hit and miss, but I’ve been working on a number of poems over the last few months which have gone quite well. Or so I think. But I’ve not put any of them up here on the blog this time and in case you’re wondering why that is, I’ve decided it’s high time I tried submitting some poems to magazines and journals and they’re not usually interested in work that has been previously published on blogs or social media.
This does mean buying a few books and magazines to find out whether my style would fit in with what the publisher likes, but that’s no bad thing. It means I’ve got even more poetry books to read!
Last year I wrote a post about how the Christmas season made sense to me when I thought of it as the old festival of Yule and all that entails. About nature, renewal and hope. Of course, I also wrote about my own hopes for the coming year, and the less said about that, the better! But I also wrote a post a couple of weeks ago – Winter 4 – the last in a series, discussing how I thought the Solstice might have been marked in prehistoric times. Although here in the UK we are now in yet another Lockdown, the solstice is tomorrow – marking the turning of the year – and I cannot help but see that as a reason for hope; the days begin to lengthen, the darkness slowly retreats, and whether you view that as merely symbolic, or connect that with longer, warmer, days and the pleasure they bring, as well as conditions less covid-friendly, yes, it is a reason for hope.
I finished reading H is for Hawk, by Helen Macdonald. I’ve been very poor at writing reviews this last year, and I must make a start again. This would be a great one to begin with; so much to write about it, and a definite five star recommendation. Superb.
I then read The Girl Who Forgets How To Walk, a poetry collection by Kate Davis, published by Penned in the Margins.
As the site describes it: ‘In this remarkable first collection, tarns, limekilns and abandoned pits become portals into a dark, interior world. A woman levitates above a building site; earth slips and fault-lines open up beneath the town; the sea hides ‘a gob of virus’. The moving title sequence tells the story of a young girl with polio who struggles to find her feet — and her voice — in an unforgiving landscape where ‘the ground cannot be trusted’.’ Again, thoroughly recommended and enjoyable. I finished it last night and am wavering between a couple of books, deciding what to read next. But, at the same time, I am working my way through a couple of excellent magazines:
An Antidote To Indifference is the perfect title for a magazine that showcases the best of the writing published on the Caught by the River website. It describes itself as: ‘an arts/nature/culture clash… It began as an idea, a vision and a daydream shared between friends one languid bankside spring afternoon. Conceived as an online meeting place for pursuits of a distinctly non-digital variety — walking, fishing, looking, thinking, birdsong and beer, adventure and poetry; life’s small pleasures, in all their many flavours — it was, and still is, about stepping out of daily routines to re-engage with nature. Finding new rhythms. Being.’ The website is updated daily and the magazine is published, on average, twice a year. I bought a couple of back issues as a bit of an experiment and, again, I highly recommend them to anyone who enjoys nature in any form.
My writing has taken a bit of a hit, though, this past week. I’ve felt utterly uninspired and fed up with the novel I’ve been editing, so I’ve tossed them aside for the moment and have been doing a little work on a short story – a folk horror / ghost story – and a little artwork. Amongst my daubings was this derivative painting which I intended to do for practice, but then thought would make a good birthday card for Sabina’s birthday last week. So that’s how it ended up.