y

EDIT (18th, 4.00p.m.): I have no idea why I'm not grey yet. The suspense is killing me.



Family (1997). My dad isn't blue; and my mum is prettier than that; and I've never had a halo But this is one of my favourite paintings.

I'm greying tomorrow. I'll be back some lucky day.

I've been feeling an overwhelming need recently to get away from the internet world and into the real world. More than that, in fact - a need to get outdoors more; and also to work more on my art and stories and stuff, patiently and steadfastly, which is usually very hard for me.

I've been remembering my life the way it was when I left art college (didn't 'drop-out', just left). And things have been appearing in the last fortnight that have also been reminding me of it. Like a programme on the tv about the Carpenters - I got into the Carpenters around the time I left art college, which is ten years ago this month, strangely (coincidence? No such thing). I was also, then, reading a lot of nursery rhymes in one of Iona and Peter Opie's great books. I found myself into them again the other day, to the extent I was back then, reading my Opie 'dictionary of nursery rhymes' and noting down attractive rhymes and phrases from rhymes, in the same notebook I'd used back then for the same purpose, writing in it from where I left off. I was also very into Buddhism at the time, and the other day I was reading some Rudolf Steiner lectures about the link between the Buddhist love and compassion impulse in history and that of Saint Francis. I picked out one of my books on Buddhism and reminisced about how I'd first encountered these ideals of love and compassion, and about how much they changed me and my perspective on life, having a healing effect on my poor, angsty young soul.

I left art college because I could. That's what it came down to. I'd been at school since the age of, I think, five, and hated, loathed, every minute of it. I think when I realised that I was perfectly free to leave college (which I saw only as an extension of school, anyway) then I had to do it. What followed was like a second childhood for me. Of course I also abandoned society and responsibility and so on, and looked at objectively I think people will always tell me it was a very 'foolish' thing to do, but I think I was destined for that, however difficult it's made my life since. I still see pure freedom as a possibility, the freedom to rely solely on providence; the freedom of genuine faith; often only the preserve of our friend the fool. The freedom also of the gypsies and travellers I love. The freedom of the artist. The freedom of the poet.

I think I've been frightened to properly embrace it because of the slightly tragic aspect it has - it's difficult, if not impossible, to have a 'comfortable' life if you're committed to that sort of freedom; because freedom is anathema to modern civilisation; you have that situation I described two entries ago where the one following spiritual promptings, the fool, is walking a path that runs in the opposte direction to everyone else's. It could also be thought of as the Apostolic thing of having no possessions and making no plans; relying on providence alone. But I'm accostomed to comfort, living with my parents; and I do mean simple comfort - roof, food, bed, pleasant wallpaper, good cooker ('stove', Americans), clean carpets, tv - not luxury really. Part of my problem growing up has been to accept that life is harsh; I've always insisted it can be just like childhood if you try, if you have enthusiasm and hope, idealism. Why I couldn't practice what I preached I'm not sure. Maybe I just wasn't mature enough. Maybe it's only at this age that I'm finally able to put into practice what I could only ever hold as ideals before. Back then the harshness of the world was just too much for me, I freely admit it; I was a weakling in face of life.

But then if I had never been a weakling in face of life, I never would've found what I've found; I never would've been able to peek behind the stage curtain, like only a ('weak') fool can get away with. I was wiped clean of 'normal-personhood', so that I could someday become this thing I always wanted to be - this ideal of a free, ever-creating person who can show others that it is indeed possible to make adulthood as good as the best childhood is. I feel like my 'light' has a candlestick now, so that I can finally put it up on the stand. I've grown a backbone, you could also say.

But the funny thing is - it's not about being tough or domineering or anything - 'manly'. It's like the strength of the ol' reed bending in the wind; or the strength of the sun's heat that makes you take your coat off where the fierce north wind failed.

Till next time

I'll leave you with one of my favourite songs, one that has enormous resonance with me (seriously; listen to the lyrics in light of everything I've just written):



Worst video on the planet, though. Well-fed young Karen was a fox-and-a-half.

P.S. Jack may have met his Jill She looks like Reagan, which is just grand by me. Met her in church. She's dopey and deep, and unconditionally nice to everyone; and extremely likeable. I feel calmer around her, and she brings out the best side of me. So, who knows; maybe.