Bird of paradise roast - a tasty distraction

The chicken is in the pan browning and I have just thrown on some sliced tomatoes to sweetly complete the roast - as the aroma of freshly picked rosemary fills the kitchen I am remembering the gratification that used to come from cooking a meal of ones own. But those days are gone. Tonight I am experiencing little of the contentment and pride of the self sufficiently prepared meal - ( oh shit, the browning thighs are, I suspect charing, hang on...... heat turned down, I'll continue) I recognise an un welcome melancholy that simmers beneath the surface of independence and time alone. Is it me or society that encourages such discontentment in the quiet un noticed pursuit of cooking for oneself ? Often I recognise the certain taboo that exits in eating out alone, not so much breakfast or lunch, but there is a certain pity that dwells in the lone dinner diner. When I enter a restaurant at night I am always asked 'table for two ?' and I have to reply with the negative: 'No, just for one please'. Less people dine out alone at dinner, maybe because it is harder to lumber the lap top or the paper or the study notes onto the more formally set dinner table. Or that night is more associated with rest, and so eating with one's head in a text book is a little less convincing. Honestly though, I think I have quite happily conquered this eating out in the evening scenario, I actually quite enjoy a dinner date with Madeleine. Fellow customers are often consumed in quiet intimate conversations which makes the space more contemplative and I can comfortably sink into my booth or couch, un noticed and appreciating the communal environment. Just the other day, as I endured a lunch in a god awful food court, I imagined how much nicer it would be if the environmet was silent. It was actually quite a great food court as far as communal free for all buffet style eating goes. With a trendy lay out and gourmet style food bars, as opposed to mountains of fried noodles sitting in a bay marie. There was however the ever persistant rotating kebab roll, will this phenomena ever die ? - it's grose ! And quite frankly who is enticed by this spit ?

Anyway, As I refill my glass I will continue and express how I never used to feel like this. But it seems my receptiveness to the experience of eating and the context of eating is gaining prominence. Feeling a weighted self pity about cooking and eating dinner alone tonight I am resorting to telling the inter webs about my browning thighs ! Living in a share house usually works, as I hover over the stove, tongs in one hand, wine in the other, I can usually chat to some one who is veging out on the couch or preparing their instant noodles. But this even is a rarity now.

I value the concept of sharing so much, be it with the shared act of cutting the vegies, smelling the garlic or the act of sitting down with another. When eating out alone, whilst you mightn't chat so much, the effort and artistry of preparing food is appreciated, you can see others enjoying their food and one can select off a menu of carefully listed meals. At the very least one can say thankyou when a meal is purchased.

But who wants to tenderly brown thighs and eat in a silent salmon coloured living room. No ! Eating is for far more than nourishment. And I crave a dinner date tonight.

....... David ! My saviour.
T.v on, Bird of Paradise special.
Did you know that the 'bird of paradise' is both a plant and bird ? Oh, and of course, a John Farnhan song.

Left with but a bag of plushies I had my last day in the studio today. I leave a colourful floor, which has seen some passionate times, a masterpiece greater than the paintings I take away.

To live with oneself

These past weeks I have experienced the true extent to which mind, body and heart are inextricably linked. As I battle with living through certain events and changes I realise I am not one of those people who can be distracted by tasks, exist behind hard edges or turn over new leaves. I live through every minute and enormous detail and when not accepted, can, as I have realised these last few days, destroy you.

I have now spiralled so far down that my body mirrors my mind and I am not able to seek assurance from the belief of my heart. Contained to my room, I am sick. The toxicity of my mind is in my fever, in my skin, in my sleeplessness, in the arrows of pain down my neck. I need a friend to spoon feed me soup and play music for my ears.

I think about what Yoga teaches me, that it is a practice of the fluctuations of the mind. You can't 'do' yoga, you must learn it and practice it. It is about acknowledging thoughts and letting them go, so as not to become a slave to the mind but rather an inhabitant of the present and to lead with the heart.

I have not allowed myself to acknowledge a grievous reality so as to let it go. Too consumed with being reasonable and empathetic I have negated how utterly bereft, guilty, angry, inadequate and heart broken I feel. I am now but a slave to my mind, punishing myself with self denigrating thoughts. This miss trust that I inspire in the one I love surrounds my heart like thorns. It doesn't matter that I am trustworthy and that I have shown my admiration and devotion, when I look in the mirror I see but a failure. I feel but worthless. Amidst the distance and space from her, resentment and pain grows. I knowingly sailed close to the shore, there were rocks but beautiful blue water too and I put trust in humility, reconciled differences and love, only to hear again, that I will never be what she needs or desires me to be. It is not a bruised ego or a rejection that hurts but a helplessness. There is an ugly miss trust and distaste in myself. As my mind dangerously circles it agonises over why and how I can not fulfil the needs of the one I care most about.

It is not my intention that these words restrict emotions or exasperate events but encourage a fluidity. I hope they will lift from the page.

Returning to the practice of Yoga: If there is one one thing I have lived this year it has been to increasingly reside in the present and lead with the heart - Even now, when I find myself tormented by my mind - much more a slave than I would desire to be. I trust that my certainty will return and that I will appreciate the full extent of a whole hearted life, is to experience in equal measure that of sadness with joy, of being lost and found. This is why I appreciate the direction of so many of the postures in yoga, when the teacher encourages you to extend from the heart, the bodies centre, rather than strain other limbs, it is designed so that you can appreciate the stretch in its full potential.

The swan dive: As i extend my arms out like wings in a graceful swoop, I will gather the energy of life, contain it to the heart in prayer stance and lead to the earth triumphantly in a dive.

This seems unattainable and unworthy of me right now but I need to believe it will come true.

The first rule of fight club... well I broke it

'Don't worry' he says to me, as he straps on his gloves, 'I won't hit hard'. His arms have fought in French boxing circles, but not for many years. I feel my shoulders pull back, mouth twitch, as if I had my ego bruised, jumping around like a silly red robin, puffing out my chest, a hear thoughts 'oh yeah, well, well...' I falter and laugh, well what ? This man is 10 times my strength. I persevere, I feel like the fool. But he is the show off.

We start punching, he is so measured, so controlled, his body is beautiful. 'don't you dare try and show off madeleine, you idiot, he'll see straight through you'. We talk about why we are here, what we 'do', how funny we look together. He shows me how to angle my arms, twist with my body to hit harder. I practice. This feels better. 'So.. an artist' He ponders 'You do have a troubled mind then ?'
Lips sealed. I hit him harder.

It is time for routines: Left Jab, left, left right, upper cut, throw, duck, follow through. Now inverted. His eyes search the room, a little frantic, needing an example. He try's to perform the set, but stops after the first few hits. Faltering, his eyes quiver a little. The instructor repeats the set, 'I cannot hear him', he mumbles. He try's again, forgetting the routine and getting flustered, not looking at me 'I cannot do this.. I cannot even remember the pattern. 'Yes you can,' I tell him. I start reciting the set as he throws, accentuating the presence of my pads, hitting back harder to build a rhythm. Slowly, he completes a whole routine.

Yes, well I probably shouldn't talk about fight club - but I need to exercise the power of my memory, if it is to be my asset in fighting circles.

I look good in leather

I am like a painting... I realised today, as finally some sentiment and energy started to emerge from a painting that I had been labouring over for some time.

When I paint I rarely paint with a plan or desired image in mind - it starts normally with an idea, a vague impression of a place or sensation that I want to give physicality to. It begins with purely colour and gesture - like sparks from a magic wand I like to paint impulsively. I trust my instinct, I have to, it is my unique asset, but painting purely subjectively all the time can also be an enemy.

The mind has the ability to return to safe areas of knowledge - you can repeat things, make the same mistakes, or labour over a work for the sake of using a brush. One can, as I have realised mistake instinct for complacency and therefore never arrive anywhere new. This is why I have begun to strategise a little in my approach - and I have never done anything that feels more uncomfortable.
I need to trick my brain, just like many an artist turns a painting upside down to see it fresh, for what it is not. I need to challenge my practice and see what can be discovered in parameters.

The reason I liken my personality and behaviours to a painting, is that I know how I work, sometimes I feel like a laboured painting - but a messy surface of paint that doesn't come together. I can spiral downhill and my mind resembles a disgusting palette of orange and violet with jagged yellow stripes - a composition that I just want to abandon, so I can start anew. I can't abandon Madeleine though, I can't rip off her canvas and re stretch a fresh skin, I have to labour with her. Most often she will emerge from the deluge - like my painting started to do in the studio today. But as reality sets in I ponder as to how sustainable it is to let a body become toxic and a mind into dangerous deep waters too often. Perhaps I need strategies too.

In retrospect, I began these strategies a month or so ago, when I took myself for some retail therapy with the strict instruction that I wasn't to buy what I gravitated to in the shop. I wanted to see what would happen if I wore leather, or one of those strappy sexy tops with sequins - who am I in other clothes ? Yes, I know, this sounds superficial, but we all do it - be it in fashion or something else, we do what is comfortable. I am not trying to re invent madeleine, just see her in a different light.

{I'm sorry to report that I couldn't leave the shop with the leather mini skirt - But I did invest in an ironing board and 2 shirts. I think I'll give the crisp pressed look a go.}

dive with me

The absence of her brings despair. The potency of my dreams has all but left and the imaginary is all but a monotonous black.
But last night I dreamt.

The ocean has returned and I dreamt about the structures within it.
I ran into the surf, down the sandy beach and into the water.
I joined a group of women, treading water at waist height, supporting with their hands a jetty.
With them I bared my part of the weight, balancing the structure, waiting for boats to come and moor. The sun was setting and illuminating the surf as it crashed around us.
A boat appeared on the horizon and needed a jetty. Despite the turbulent ocean we swam our way out to meet the boat. Over the waves we struggled, carrying the wooden structure on our shoulders.
Soon, it was only I left with the jetty, I was weighted by it and there was no boat to be found.
I let the jetty go, it sunk beneath the surface and disappeared.
Alone, way out at sea I decided to dive down below and follow the falling structure.
Inside it I swam, and within its structure I found a reef. Speckled light illuminated life, shadows cast beautiful shapes and there were fish, tiny schools swimming amongst the rafters. I twisted my body and explored the environment with open hungry eyes, looking toward a distant exit of light.

Instructions to view slide shows

In case any potential viewers of my blog would like to see my recently uploaded photo albums, make sure you double click the small slide show images at the bottom of the blog page. This will transfer you to picassa albums and then click full screen view on the left side of the screen to see my work in full screen beauty.
Obviously many won't need to follow these instructions as they will be smart enough to work it out, but I wanted to make sure you all knew that you could view my work on a larger scale.

Thanks