8 september 2023

the skies are empty. blue and empty (because winds are coming from the east). in the evening the emptiness turns red-orangy-- and a soft pale ochre; the wind dies down at the end of the day, and there's smog in the air. it's been quite warm, the past few days. too warm to go for walks, i miss them. i'm not doing very well. i barely sleep, and i eat because i must because this weather takes my appetite from me. i read. but i've only one chapter left and then there's nothing. i've ordered a few books but they won't be here today. maybe tomorrow.

the sea is on my mind. i wish i lived closer by the sea. it's the only thing i can think about. it's like a mantra, but not a good one. i'm too tired.

*

i've been reading books by irish authors: thin places by kerri ní dochartaigh, and two books written by easkey britton: salt water in the blood and ebb & flow. 

thin places is heavy. it's about how nature, the natural world, our world, can help us save ourselves. and it's about trauma; kerri ní dochartaigh went through a lot. she was born during ‘the troubles’. nobody knew how to deal with what was experienced daily, by many.

i could not deal with it when i first started it. it's quite confrontational.
it still feels heavy. but her work was mentioned by earskey britton in one (or two) of her books and i picked it up again; i finished it yesterday. i'm not sure how i feel about it. it is beautifully written but it's also a bit much: there's a constant stepping-back going on; a neverending push to find better wording for what she wants to communicate. and i understand that, i think i understand why it is happening; but for me it is a bit much: i feel things get lost because of the overwhelming amount of words she conjures up.

but, again, i get it: it is astonishing she was able to do that, it is quite an achievement to put so much of yourself in a book, with words on pages -- and i don't mean to say that she should have made this differently -- i wonder if i'm still dealing with the confrontational part of my relationship with this book.

it is a beautiful book.
at the moment i like it a lot for the way the writer experiences nature; how she feels about the natural world. it is just like i experience nature. (i actually just had a dragonfly come into this little space. the doors are open (i should close them, the day is getting hotter), there's a sound dragonflies make, a dry sound, a kind of ticking that remind me of something but i don't know what it is -- anyway, dragonflies play a particular role in thin places.)
i also like the title, a lot. it's what drew me to it.

the folklore of almost every culture holds room for these liminal spaces -- those in-between places -- not to be found on any map. are these thin places spaces where we can more easily hear the land, the earth, talking ot us? or are they places in which we are able to feel more freely our own inner selves? (p.53)

*

easkey brittons books talk about the sea. i was looking for books about the sea because i was (and still am) experiencing zeewee (this dutch word is related to heimwee, which talks of a deep longing for home, but it's a wee (longing) for zee (sea/ the ocean)) -- and then a youtuber i'm following, orla stevens, uploaded a new video, about a snorkelling artist residency she did:

she mentions easkey brittons book. i ordered it immediately. i've devoured both. i wish there was more. zeewee.

shall i be completely honest?
the sound of the sea is making me cry, lately.

there are things going on. i'm trying to find a way to live nearer to the sea. i'd also like to do work i actually like. 

*

i'm still drawing. skies, but recently a horizon has appeared. also something landcape-y; but mostly because of the movement i saw: lines. it's still lines i'm interested in.

a few days after i started these new kind of drawings, i stumbled upon the work of annemieke harkema. i'm loving her book natuur getekend. it's incredibly inspirational but i'm a little bit afraid of how much my work is related to her work; which feels really weird. because up until a week ago i didn't know about her. and my cloud sketches started to appear nine months back.

i'm a bit worried. confused. not sure about what. it's not like i will suddenly see things differently; because my drawings are all about what i see, and i think that is the case for annemieke harkema as well. and we all see different things; make different marks. 

i think it feels like we see the same thing(s). but i'm sure even if we do, which probably isn't even true, we'd still make very different work. 

i really want to draw. but there's not a cloud to be seen. drawing outside has been my favourite way of working. i need the clouds to return.

the poetry of space

i went to see the sea. it has been years since i saw the ocean and it’s been too long. i need empty horizons. it is so interesting how place and landscape work deeply into our being, soul even.

our relationship with landscape

how we don’t care about our surroundings equals us don’t caring about ourselves

/ but that’s not what i’ve been thinking about, lately.

i’ve been thinking about the sea a lot, the coast. our waddeneilanden. winds and clouds. their paths. seeing them come, watching their movements, development. shadows on water, waves.

the poetry of space.

all that ‘nothing’ that allows me to wander and wonder and watch. see.

it’s fields and lakes and oceans, for me.

when i wander around in my current surroundings i see so much destruction. i can’t imagine there’s less destruction near the coast, in the ocean, even though there seems to be less going on; everything is hidden beneath the waves, where air and land give way to water, salt or sweet, engulfed by another element.

but something about the immensity of the ocean, its currents and waves, its movements, its connection with the winds and the moon, makes it feel like a force that cannot be controlled, will not be controlled. and that gives me hope.

like the skies.

these are my homes.

*

i went to the sea and swam. well, barely, the waves were high and strong and i was mostly being tossed about but i was in the sea for a bit. it was heavenly.

i now miss the sea more than before. but that is ok.

*

a return, once more

i don't know what to write. 
i'm in that place again where i don't know what's me, anymore. my head is so full of too much noise & i'm exhausted.

back to graphite and watercolours. my home.
my medicine: kateri ewing's muse course, a gift that has been and still is so important to me. & my friend flowerville who, i proudly admit, i've turned into a watercolour-lover. (is it a coincidence that sea-lovers are watercolour-lovers as well? i wonder.) she recently got herself a beautiful set of watercolours by a. gallo colors: the naturale set. it has been on my wish list for a bit & i am so, so very jealous.

*

in need of softness and poetry.
piano music. the unknow craftsman and six facets of light.

(in need of more watercolour colours. i sold many of them a little while ago, thinking i was never going to use them again, ever. just kept a few special colours. blue green brown grey white. in need of more watercolours. 

i bought a cheap-ish set that is a waste of money.
now i have no money.)

*

i know this all sounds so very dramatic. i am not a drama queen.
this feels very dramatic. it feels lonely. like i've lost connection to life.

i don't know why this keeps happening. the way i treat watercolours is the way i treat myself; somehow. in a way. i can't explain my connection to watercolours -- it is dramatic. i think some of you might understand. in my notebook i wrote: i long for watercolours. i feel them in my soul. they are where the real me lives entirely and yet i sometimes lose track of that part of me & it keeps happening & it's happening quite often, with shorter intervals, lately.

and,

i need to keep it small.

16 februari 2023/ green up there

i had a plan, i realise while reading the blogpost i wrote last month.
nothing came of it, of course.

the clouds haven't left, though. & i'm quite happy, possibly even proud, to write those words: i've been jumping around for ever, never quite feeling like i made something: i've always felt like the things i did were highly influenced by others. and i can tell you, it doesn't take much to influence me. not much at all.

this is a fresh, recent realization: i lived three weeks without much access to wifi & let me tell you: it calms everything down. i read a lot, sat in my chair by the fire, looked/ stared outside. didn't *do* much. that was possible because i had two weeks off of work. there was lots of time to do nothing.

there was time, and space to be the observer that i am. without (much) interruption. 

but now there's work again. there are empty days in between the work days; it takes a little while to shrugg the business of a "regular" day -- isn't that depressing. why do i call a work day a regular day? not ok. -- a big chunk of my empty day is used to decompress, i feel like. & the rest of the day i wish to draw.  it's that productive-thing, the need to feel productive to have had a good day. which is fucked up.

i need empty days to be able to do nothing

(but look)

(and read, write, walk, lie down, whatever feels needed)

and to draw. 

i know the doing-nothing-part is as important as the reading & writing & walking part, all these parts need each other & when one goes missing, everything falls to bits. i pick the wrong books to read, write about things that do not matter to me. i care lots about everyone else's thoughts and feelings, more than my own. buy stuff i don't need.

all that shit.

i am a quiet, slow, observing being. it is what it is.

and i can't wander away for too long. i think those quiet weeks offline were very important for me, and for the stuff i'm currently doing in my sketchbooks. 

i will share but can't say much about the pages because... it just is. what it is.

in a way it feels like the most logical thing; i can't remember a time when i was not always looking up, up at the sky. i recently heard somewhere that most people more often look at their devices than at the sky & that made me so, so sad. 

anyway.

the only thing i'm thinking about right now is: can i put green in the sky? in the clouds, the sky?

i think i can.

*

this morning i was whining in my journal about all this, about all the stuff i find so difficult & keep bumping into (and keep writing about, over and over and over again; how boring this blog must be). and then i sat down near the windows, my regular spot. and up until that point, the day was endlessly grey. i didn't think the day would become lighter, brighter; but i sat down near the windows, and the sun broke through.

there suddenly was so much light and space.

so. some pages:

there are lots more. i'm filling sketchbooks quite quickly. it's exciting. there's change. and i'm exploring; i literally do not know where i am, what i'm moving toward. i don't know where i want to go (exciting/ frustrating). i think i maybe want to try gouache sometime but right now i just use neocolors and colored pencils. 

so. no plans. maybe next time there will be some green in the sky. until then,

X

p.s. i'm rereading virginia woolfs to the lighthouse. it's so utterly beautiful. 

17 januari 2023/ four greys & a soft blue

it is getting more and more obvious to me that the creative practice is personal, an immensely personal thing. to start, to keep going.

it's one of those things onest must feel before one can know what that means.

it's a bit lonely at the moment, for me. it doesn't have to be because it's actually a conversation with oneself, isn't it, the creative practice. but right now it feels like it's a one-sided-conversation.

maybe i do need some sort of community, but i don't really seem to like people. i like some people, but most online communities, the ones i've found so far, seem too crowded, & a bit frivolous. i don't know; i might be too serious a person.

last week i received luisa's latest newsletter, i think i've mentioned her before but i might have deleted that particular blogpost -- i love her newsletters, they're always filled with inspiration and honesty. one of the things she shared this time was a new podcast, it's called studio notes & it's brilliant. like luisa, “i devoured it”. sasha dewitt is the maker, and her guests mostly talk about the doing, the making, when lots of other podcasts are too occupied by the business-side of being an artist -- 

anyway, all those artists speaking about sharing made me think that maybe community is what i need.

i, however, don't know what that means to me. nothing, actually, honestly, at the moment.
something to explore.

i did sign up for luisa's patreon again, so maybe that is a start. 

*

so. what i've been doing lately... i moved into a tiny new home, there's so much light & when i look out there's so much space. so much sky. i've been drawing clouds, mostly. i just sit down on the floor near the tuindeuren, the big window-y doors that lead to a porch that is not yet there, someday soon. 

(oh and a pond filled with very loud ducks. have you ever seen anything as happy as a duck in its element? they're so sweet.)

and i sit down. a big sketchbook in front of me, some neocolors close-by, and i just draw the lines i see. they're blind, the drawings. blind linedrawings. they might not even be drawings, maybe they're more like sketches.

i've filled quite some pages in the big sketchbook; last weekend i made a few tiny sketchbooks with a sheet of paper (A3) and filled those with some sky.

i call them the tiny books of sky:

i also started drawing in my hahnemuehle grey book; i also have a cappuccino book but i'm not sure they're right for skies. 

i might just have figured out what to do next.

i actually felt entirely lost when i started writing this blogpost; i've been doing these cloud sketches, but, as i told a friend earlier today, i felt like i was just wandering around in the dark. didn't know what to do. but, well, virginia woolf knew best: “The future is dark, which is the best thing the future can be, I think”.

but i think i now have a plan of what i'm going to do, relating to the cloud/ sky line drawings. (i'm not good with plans so who knows how this will turn out..)

*

since i loathe planning and all that stuff that is connected to it (i honestly can't come up with words that are related to planning), i'm not going to say anything about this new year (well, not so new anymore) except that i'm going to try to be a better, more regular blogger. i'm also going to put some older posts back on the blog; my creative practice/ process is a messy one & i often feel shame surrounding all my ups and downs, and the blogs i make during these episodes.

but they're important, if only to be able to look back at things later & maybe suddenly understand something; the tiniest things can be so illuminating, sometimes.

i'm going to try to be a better, more regular, more honest blogger.

i'll be seeing you.

X

16 november 2022

it's not about reinvention. it's quite the opposite, actually. it's about clearing away everything that is not mine.

in some ways it feels like all those years ago, when the body felt like nothing, like it would move away with the winterwinds;

i went for walks and everything was realer than i was. i was not invisible but i wasn't real. 

it does not feel like that now. it feels like i was so heavily buried by so much onzin, nonsense. i couldn't get away from it. until something had to move, away away because i couldn't anymore.

(i don't care about visibility.
but i am not invisible. that is not real. 

i wish to be more real.)

*

my thinking feels restricted. i don't know how to change it.
i'm too literal, can't get away from the surface. i think it's my own fault; it's my own fault, for moving away from the things that move me.

going in circles.

why not take my love and hold it.
why not try to get to the center of the love. i care so much about certain things but have not yet found a way to make that care more real in the day-to-day.
it's not just my thinking that feels (/ is?) restricted. 

maybe it's this never-empty horizon. i miss the higher spaces i am so familiar with. the depths of visibility. the air moving on and on and on and i'm not there to witness it, it all.

een oud liedje. te veel zijn. bang te veel te zijn. het probleem te zijn. dé reden dat dingen fout gaan, slecht aflopen. de reden dat anderen stress hebben.

& de dagen zijn zo ontzettend gevuld. drie dagen van twaalf uur verdeeld over een week & dan de dagen tussendoor nodig zijn om die andere drie dagen uit je lijf te krijgen.

dingen willen doen en dan die dagen te vol maken maar dan met de stille dingen waardoor je weer het idee hebt dat je niet genoeg doet want ----

i'm so fucking done with this.

finally sitting down to write & then being interrupted

and i just can't let myself be pissed off

see how i switched to another language. not my language. but definitely a language that is not theirs, either.

i don't want to have to talk.

i'm so tired of people.

and i can't say no