I
Am
It’s dusk and I am
sitting here, all alone, buried deep in one of the two lounges which
practically fill the lounge room. This is far too comfortable and I
surely will need leverage when I have to change from this spot.
For now however it is
good to be where I am. The sherry which I pored myself [nobody else to
offer me one], doesn’t taste too bad.I don’t profess to know much
about alcohol but I would have expected it to have a little bit more
‘bite’.
It looks so very
promising and golden.
Another illusion
perhaps? Life is a conglomerate of so many of them.
It is dark now outside
and the early evening quietness gets spoiled by cars racing past with
owners who seem to be adamant to end up in hospital rather sooner than
later.
Speed bumps might be the
answer here. Big brother seems to be at home to-night. Nobody is
watching.
In the background I hear
the noise of many barking dogs, my neighbour’s dog more persistent.
The poor animal is tied up day and night having not enough room to
move. He does get frantic.
I am listening to Enya’s
CD ‘In memory of trees’ while trying to record the same for a
friend.
I love her music. There
must be a bit of Celtic heritage somewhere in me.
Her voice has a timbre
which reminds me of leather and dark oak at the one time and changes
into a velvety tastexture of tawny port changing and flowing into
sounds like the silken touch of babies hair.
I thoroughly enjoy her
voice and yet, I do not often enough listen to music as I feel that it
intrudes too much into my silence.I prefer to be alone with my
thoughts. I do like my own company, most of the time.
I savour the quiet, the
stillness, with only my books as company. I am a closet philosopher,
and in bed I am surrounded by them, my double bed-s[pace is taken up
by lots of them. I do live on the edge...
Of my bed that is.
The last song is being
recorded, so I have to be alert for a while. It is only because of
this recording that I am sitting here, enveloped by the soft leather
of my lounge. Normally I do not spend much time in here at all.
Although small, this
room is pleasant, I have made it into a gallery for my own paintings
as well as the works of some friends.
Some of my very ‘feminist’
works cover the windows to block out my noisy neighbours.
My paintings, my own
creations, dark and leathery, mysterious.....
People do love to touch
them. I am so very much a ‘touch’ sensitive person. I have to feel
everything; stone, dirt,water, trees, skin, silk, velvet...
Some plants and other
art works have found a space on the newly polished floors. Although
this loungeroom has a very comfortable feeling, I much prefer my
bedroom for living space.
There is my sanctuary
where I love to spend my time recumbent, in thought and surrounded by
books and scribble pad.....
The recording session is
nearly finished, It has taken some time because I am not at all
technical.
I can not do much around
the house as the result of a fall which has left me with a fair bit of
trouble. But ‘c’est la vie’! What will be, will be.
That is one of the
reasons why I need my bed.
My body objects too
often to my choice of spending time. It always ends up paying the
price.
While I am sitting here
in my soft leather lounge, I am surrounded by good vibes. It reminds
me of the solid grounding I had in my young years at home, and of the
time I had to spend at my grandmother’s place, when my mother had a
breakdown from bringing up 10 children as well as looking after our
corner-store.
My grandmother’s
leather chair must have been hundreds of years old and so
comforting....
I am happy and content.
The sherry is finished [the glass I mean] and soon I have to lie down
because my back can not cope anymore with the soft opulence of my
seating arrangement.
Memories keep flooding
in; of mugs of steaming hot chocolate on cold winternights in Holland,
eons ago, while sitting around the fire, listening to the stormy
weather outside.
Sitting on solid
furniture made of oak and leather. Feeling warm and safe. The velvety
sweet taste of hot chocolate with crunchy cinnamon bisks.....
Dunking them...
Solid seems to be the
keyword of my being. I cannot be flighty or light as the butterfly. I
am serious and always searching for the meaning of life....
Freud would have a
heyday if he could read this.
Why then did I leave all
of this?
Move out of the safe
warmth of the nest to seek the heath of the sun with it’s frivolous
colors of the tropics?
I don’t know.
However I have found my
niche. I like to walk in the rain forest, I feel the need to get in
touch with my origins and look for the things ‘beyond’ to meet my
‘life force’.
I am in awe of the
slender palm trees reaching higher and higher searching out the sun.
I feel so at ease with
the dark forest floor. Cool, moist, and dank with the smell of decay.
That smell which speaks to me of the rich fertility of Mother Earth.
The feeding ground for
untold insects and plants.
Life, living. The life
force......
Port....
Velvet....
Leather....
I see how it all hinges
together and this brings me back to my paintings:
Mysterious as the forest
floor, mysterious as my soul.
A return into the dark
eons of prehistory when women had the power because they were the
givers and nurturers of life.....
Port, red like blood and
velvet which owns the touch of coagulating blood....
Menses...
Women...
In long forgotten times
women knew what it was to be woman.
Women today are mostly
seen as a means to an end in relation to:
Foetus,
Babies,
Children,
Husbands,
Family.........
It is raining now and
the noise of rain on the iron roof intrudes into my domain of quiet.
It overpowers the music. I always have, as a child, disliked the rain.
Even now it depresses me and reminds me of my childhood with its colds
and bronchitis. Of being sick and not being allowed to go out and
play....
I am going to bed now.
I do love reading in bed
when it rains!
