Plotting for the Future

Open Studios, Open Squares, Open Gardens. It’s all been happening this weekend. I didn’t manage any squares, but Friday night kicked off with a visit, minus camera, to some local artists studios. I went to look, not to buy and took just £5 with me. The plan was to spend an hour or so there and then come home. It was a gorgeous evening. People were sitting in the sunshine enjoying food and drink. Children were running about. The dog friendly café had some happy tails wagging under tables. Despite meeting a friend and having a longish chat, I kept to schedule. I just didn’t visit as many of the studios as I had intended. I deliberately didn’t visit my favourite ceramiscist until today. She always has seconds for sale on Friday night and I knew I might cave in and buy something I really and truly don’t need. I went there this morning instead. The day has been dull and chilly. Maybe that discouraged people from attending, because it was quite quiet.

Clements Yards

Clements Yards

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Music to My Eyes

The first week in December unleashes a host of Christmas fairs in London. Artists’ Studios are open, the Cattery has its do today. They are far more relaxing places to buy presents than the hurly burly of the West End.
I bought a couple of things from ceramic artist Lucy Smith http:/lucysmith.org.uk both of which I’d love myself. She kindly said she’d post them for me, so I don’t even have to wrap them them.

I love Barbara Wakefield’s ceramics too, /http://barbarawakefield.co.uk/and I am considering buying a piece on these lines for a musical friend next year. You can commission a particular extract from a favourite work.


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Boatlag

I’ve been out of sorts all day.
Not unwell, just not really on the ball. I’ve found it very difficult to concentrate or get down to things that needed doing.
I know it was hot and humid, it still is humid, and even quite hot, but that wasn’t it. Or at least, not all of it.
I dragged myself up to the local Open Studios event hoping others’ artistic endeavours would stimulate me into a more positive frame of mind. There were some wonderful pieces to see but I still couldn’t shake off my lassitude. One of my neighbours has a publishing business there.
I struggled to have a conversation with him.
‘You’re boatlagged,’ he said, when I tried to explain my feelings of dislocation.
And by golly, I think he’s right.