On Sunday we had a group of students from the Centre for Creative Photography for a studio visit. It’s always fun showing people your work and getting to carry on about it a little. And if you happen to inspire someone… that is the best feeling.
I met a fellow journaler. Much more tidy and controlled than mine. Mine are all over the show, ‘like stork shit in mid air’ as my cute husband would say. (He has the best turn of phrase.)
We were mutually excited because we both cut them up to use for further art. She has pages all over their hallway at home and they used it to create a spoken word party, participants drawing words and phrases (if they wanted) to create stuff from.
Reminds me of this:
a zine made from pages from a much larger book called The Phrase Book, though not cut out like the work in Etcetera.
We shared how it feels sacrilegious cutting them up. But is worth it for the engagement of other people.
I find that journaling helps me to order my thoughts. It allows me to get them out of my head where, otherwise, they sort of rattle around collecting dust. It helps me focus on what is important to me or to nurture things that are still embryonic. Or I use it for things I don’t want to forget like these two stories from my grandkids the other day:
and just to have fun!
There is so much written about journaling these days, from psychologists’ treatises through the self-help industry, to the average Joe (me) raving on. But really, it saves my life and enlivens me.
How about you? I’d love to hear from any other avid journal keepers out there.
And if you don’t keep them your self, why don’t you give it a go? You don’t even have to keep a book. Woody Allen has a drawer where he throws bits of paper with thoughts and ideas. Apparently it’s where he goes when he feels stuck.
I’ve been posting away at https://belindabroughton.com/blog/ .
Here is a poem about having a place in the world (sometimes we forget)
Here is an illustration of extreme hair, a bit silly and fun.
This post is about my handmade paintbrushes, including the one used to paint Extreme Hair.
I’m missing you all. Could you add my blog address to Manage, in Followed Sites in your Reader? It changed a while ago. it is now https://belindabroughton.com/blog/
in the dream
you pushed our rickety house
how shall we live
now that we grow old?
I stopped reading
and began to gaze
out the window
and that’s why he
reached over and touched me
open Heart, open
to the world of beauty
and your warm husband’s breath
and his limited sleeping breath
the young plum tree
in the first autumn fog
my loving heart
will take what comes
Been over to my new blog lately? I have been doing a bit since I last posted here. Here is my latest post. It is following from a Facebook ‘live’ video where I showed viewers around my studio finishing with the story of this silhouette. Those are little rib bones btw. I’d love to know what you think; leave me a comment!
“The image above is called After Image. It is nearly two metres wide and standing in front of the real thing the eye is caught first by the black and then travels to the white. But as it does it carries an after image of the black in negative, ie. white. I was dealing with war at the time and this was about the long term effect on the psychs of people.
This next painting is called Little Bird and is about those displaced by war, those who become refugees….”
The above is copied from my blog, I think it is an interesting post about making art in a time of war. Also It is about how one works intuitively finding out the meaning of your work as it comes into being. There’s a fairly decent poem there too, in my opinion.
So pop over and have a look. HERE
Forgive the quality. This is my first ever video. #AbundantArtShow day 4 (I think. I’m confused)
By the way, the one giving me leaves (mentioned herein) was my granddaughter, not my daughter (who is more likely to give me dead dragonflies or skulls or lichen). Sometimes I say a completely wrong word. I have been known to say white when I mean black.
grasses shushing the voices of ancestors
spinifex dot painting country
intricate memory of blood splatter lichen
* * * * *
how can one walk the earth of Australia and not think
of the people who have gone before
the crags sing of them
the water wells salty with tears
the earth is red as the blood that was shed upon it
* * * * *
- Country: In Aboriginal English, a person’s land, sea, sky, rivers, sites, seasons, plants and animals; place of heritage, belonging and spirituality; is called ‘Country’. (Source: Glossary of Indigenous Australian Terms, Australian Museum, Link.
More of my writing on aboriginal issues here. More of my haiku on this blog under categories here and on my old blog here. Feel free to have a browse.
‘spinifex dot painting country’ was first published in Journeys, an anthology published by Haiku Bindii, a local Adelaide Japanese poetry group. I don’t think they have any more copies but I have a few. If you are interested contact me here, and I can get one into the mail for you.