Dream state

I love those magic bedtime moments where you hover with one thought on the logical (I must get my car booked in for its MOT) and the dream (a metal stag chases you through a bluebell wood whilst singing My Way). At this point you either pull yourself back into wakefulness or slip into the Land of Nod.

Just saying...

Up above the streets and houses...

If you're British and of a certain age (that probably means over 35), I defy you not to continue the lyrics in the title and sigh fondly at memories of men in Bungle suits and loud-mouthed puppets with zips for mouths. Ahh... those days of harmless childhood entertainment. Interestingly, if you pop onto YouTube for a trip down Nostalgia Avenue, you might find a few episodes that you don't recall seeing on TV... Watch with caution it may shatter your illusions forever!

Anyway enough nonsensical rambling; I have a global readership to take of who have absolutely no interest in learning that you can buy a George fancy dress costume on eBay for £49.99...

Let's move my writing onto the more serious matter of why there is a lady with rainbow-coloured hair sitting at the top of this post.

Well, this lady up top is Ellie. She had a mix up at the hairdressers when, during a freak storm, a rainbow shot down the drainpipe, entered the salon water system and turned her hair all the colours of ... well the rainbow.

Personally I think it suits her and, as they say, worse things have happened at sea. Not sure what her Mum will say when she gets home though... especially as poor Ellie has now become rainbow obsessed and felt compelled to paint Jessica using the water squeezed from her towel.

Both of these ladies are posted for the Butterfly Effect's rainbow challenge.

I'm in a strange mood this evening. I may have over-dosed on episodes of the Vampire Diaries (and the wine probably doesn't help either). Last night I dreamt mean and nasty Klaus was after me and then I couldn't understand why I dreamt about a boy I went to school with who I haven't seen in over 30 years... until I thought about his surname... Gilbert.... cue spooky Vampire music.... I do love the ridiculous plots though - it's almost on a par with the Apprentice for encouraging pointless shouting at people inside the television screen. I really should watch something more sensible - like Britain's Got Talent.

Anyway, it never being a good idea to write a blog post when slightly inebriated and with a day's work ahead of me come sunrise, I must away to my bed. Perhaps tonight I will dream where the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow might be hidden...

Recurring dream

I'm either back at University and it's the end of term or I need to pack up to return from holiday. The trouble is... I seem to have amassed an enormous amount of... well... stuff! But it's mainly books. Hundreds of books weighing down shelves, under the bed, inside cupboards. Words and pictures. Academic, children's picture books, fiction.... there's no rhyme nor reason. Well, there probably is among that pile. I'm sure I spotted a book on the romantic poets the other day.

So, there I am in this dream and on a deadline. I need to move out, load up the car, but I have nothing to put all these books in and no space to transport them. I can't bear to part with them. I panic, I rush, I wake up...

Amy prompted us to creatively depict our dreams for The Butterfly Effect. It's been a bit of a week, so this quick digital play is all I've had time for this week, but if I didn't get to make at least one piece of art this week I was going to fade away! I'm lacking in energy and willpower, so will quickly post and link this, then I'm off to bed.. Night night....

The books are coming to get me..... Help!!!!

Err...

Eva

Well, it looks like I just can't stop drawing these girls on book pages... Last night I wasted a lot of time working on a bird piece that was collaged and painted and waxed and tweaked... But in the end, it just didn't tweet it for me.

Then, just as I was about to go to bed, the Muse gently nudged me back to the art table. "Go on... just one..." she urged. What could I say? When the Muse calls you listen (or she sulks for days refusing to come out to play). Then one face turned into two and the clock ticked way past my bedtime...

I love how I can get away with giving these girls messed up hair. In this sense they are very self-portrait. I have never been able to tame my fine mane. That's 'fine' as in thin and weedy, rather than a spectacle of luxurious coiffure.

Still there's plenty of other parts of me that chug along happily without being tamed. My imagination certainly enjoys being free to roam. Last night I scored a golfing hole in one in my dream. Everyone bought me a drink. It was very jolly... But later I was trying to find my way home and lost in Brighton while looking for Waterloo Station. It promised to be a long search as it's about 60 miles further north in London! Then before I knew it, suddenly I had match-side seats to watch Liverpool play some other team at football, but all the guys I was with said they'd prefer to go to the cinema... It's a strange old world that subconscious...

Samphire

(I knew it wouldn't be too long before a mermaid demanded to be included in this set!)

Day 5 of Art Every Day Month - I'm having so much fun!! It's never too late to join in.

Castles in the mind

Give me a castle and I'm away with the fairies (and Princesses, Knights, Wizards and other motley members of such a fortification). They are clearly on the mind this week - if I'm not watching Camelot or Game of Thrones, then I'm writing metaphorical stories and knocking down walls with sheer determination.

This is my favourite castle. Interestingly I dreamt about Warwick last night. I had bought my dream house there. It was incredible (though I got lost on the way back after a little exploration around town). I have a feeling about this dream - it's not the first time I've had it. If we take the literal interpretation, maybe it really is my dream house and one day I'll find myself living there. Symbolically it's about new beginnings. At least there weren't any zombies in it, which frankly makes a change. I seem to have the (paranormal) lion's share of undead in my night time imaginings.

I've been writing articles all day and creating all night (with a little bit of monster-bashing on an MMO in between!). Painting with my just received delivery of new Golden acrylics (sigh - those colours just blow me away). Then I took myself off into romantic-fantasy-land for the Inspiration Avenue weekly challenge.

I took the photo when I used to work an arrow's flight from these battlements. A bit of layering, some playing with brushes, textures and applying a little trickery and we have Warwick Castle - with a couple of twists in the telling. Can you spot them?

How could romantic intrigue not but happen in a place such as this - forsooth?!

Finding Arcadia again

I've been crying over music...

I can't have listened to this album for nearly 20 years, yet it seems like yesterday. I feel almost embarrassed to admit it brought a tear to my eye - a mixture of the haunting and exotic creativity of the piece and the emotions of a teenage me brought back to the surface.

As each track began the memories stirred. It's hard to explain. A mixture of long-forgotten words and puberty's angst. Hours spent living in a dream world ... Those were the days when we had hours to dream...

For those not obsessed by everything Duran Duran circa 1985, perhaps I should explain that Arcadia were a one-album offshoot from the band and, despite missing my 'darling' John Taylor, produced the kind of music that makes me cry. I know, what can I say? I'm artistic and prone to being irrationally emotional.

When I was 14, I was convinced I would one day become Mrs Taylor. Clearly I never did, or perhaps this blog might be called 'Tayles' or 'Hey look at me, I bagged a pop star'. I did marry someone who shared the same birthday, but that didn't turn out too well, so I'm guessing some things were just not meant to be!

It's strange, but I have no idea what prompted me to type 'So Red the Rose' into the iTunes store. Maybe it was the bizarre dream a few days ago when myself, Take That and Duran Duran chewed the fat in the sunshine in Brighton. Perhaps it's just because they are getting quite a bit of airplay lately with a new single (yes, still going strong into their 50s... there's hope for us all yet!). I've dreamt about them again since... twice in a week... my 14-year-old self would have been beside herself! This time I helped Nick Rhodes write the lyrics to their new song (separated well away from the musical instruments of which I am not adept!).

I still own the vinyl album with its stunning artwork, but sadly have nothing to play it on. Lucky for Messrs Le Bon & Co's bank accounts that I bought it again digitally - likewise much of the Duran Duran back catalogue. The vampish gypsy Queen was great inspiration to a teenage artist too. How we miss album art in these digital days...

Whatever the reason that prompted the re-purchase; I've been back in dreamland, back in Arcadia and on Sri Lankan beaches, riding yachts dashing through shining seas and driving in chauffeur-driven silver-blue cars through rainstorms.

My personal playlist 'Flim Flam & Judy' - dreamiest songs

Mediterranea
Chains
Ordinary World
The Chauffeur
Skin Trade
Save a Prayer
Hold back the Rain
Lonely in your Nightmare
Missing
The Promise
El Diablo
Election Day
All you need is now
Point of No Return
Still Breathing

Taking stock

This protracted (albeit minor) illness is causing some serious think time. It's fairly obvious I'm run down - so how to fix it before total burnout? Writing stuff (see the play on words there?) down should help, so might as well do it in an open forum!

If dream interpretation is anything to go by, I need to go through a period of adjustment. Night time adventures seem to either involve a last minute and streesful packing up to move house - usually to or from University, but holidays sometimes involved too. I'm also constantly plagued by zombies and apocalypse scenarios.

So here comes the fun bit. According to various online sources...

• To dream that you are attacked by zombies, indicates that you are feeling overwhelmed by forces beyond your control.
• To dream of the apocalypse, signifies an emotional and dramatic change taken place within. The dream may also indicate the end of one kind of lifestyle and the beginning of another.
• Moving signifies your desire or need for change.
• To dream that you are packing signifies a new and significant beginning ahead of you.
• To dream that you are repetitively packing and unpacking signifies confusion in your life. You have many too much on your plate that you feel you should take care of and you are overwhelmed by the burdens you face.

This is all somewhat scarily true. What? You mean my night time subconscious understands me better than I know myself? Who would have thought it eh?

It's taken me all week to write this post. By contrast this painting took about half an hour. The Muse hasn't been out to play all week - she had a cold too. We both found a little spring in our step today and, inspired by a recent purchase of a book of Brian Froud's artwork, we created this creepy creature. She's a combination of his Fideal, with a touch of the woman suffering with a cold for far too long! At least I retain my sense of humour.

The green background was made weeks ago to use up some paint - just brayered on a page in the sketchbook and left for when inspiration struck. She was drawn with Inktense pencils and neocolour pastels. Water application gave her life and depth - somehow appropriate as traditionally she lives in the reed beds and swamps waiting to seductively lure her prey into a watery embrace. They leave her with damp clothes and a runny nose...

She's for Paint Party Friday, but they will only allow her in if she promises to use a tissue when sneezing.

Celestial

Living with the bright lights of a big town, I miss being able to see the stars in all their glory. It's only when you get away that the magic appears - all part of being on holiday! My partner says though that you've never seen stars until you've seen them in the African bush when the entire sky twinkles and illuminates.

I painted this last night in an attempt to feel better. I don't! Although I did have the most amazing dream about three Kingdoms at war, a tangled forest, marbles and this giant inflatable that bounced me around like a rag doll!

Best leave this post there before you all think I've gone nuts...

For Inspiration Avenue - Celestial.

Setting limits

I haven't joined in with the Wishcasting crew for months but felt particularly prompted when I saw the question this morning - What limits do you wish to set?

Limits is not really a word I carry around in my vocabulary. I prefer words that form sentences like - leap without looking and where angels fear to tread. But lately, I've come to the realisation that perhaps for my own sanity I need to set maybe one or two little ones here and there.

I think I've been pushing myself too hard. There's so much I wish to achieve, yet not enough hours in the day or, more realistically, energy in this mind and body. By trying to win at everything, I think I'm coming in a medicore average at all. Some focus wouldn't go amiss, a concentration on one thing at a time. My mind is a tangle of thoughts, ambitions and ideas all competing for attention and getting themselves mixed and messed up.

Night time offers no rest when dreams get mixed in with reality and I awake in a state of confusion. It took me a while to realise this morning that I hadn't actually just had dinner with the Queen, Princess Anne and the late Edward and Mrs Simpson. Edward and I shared a cheeky glass of vintage wine that he'd hidden from his father... Interestingly, the Queen and Princess Anne resembled their current selves but Edward looked like Guy Pierce... (guess what I watched at the weekend!). Colin Firth was strangely absent. Perhaps he was busy off being Mr Darcy in someone else's dream.

The illustration for this post was prompted by Illustration Friday's 'swarm' topic and the book I am reading - Of Bees and Mist by Erick Setiawan. One of the characters - Eva, a rather wicked woman carries a swarm of bees around her to torture those she seeks to influence. A kind of nagging annoyance that saps the spirit and bends you to her will.

My head feels like it has been infected by her bees at the moment and I think it's time they found someone else to bother - or better still, went back to the business of making honey - a far sweeter occupation. Is a bee invasion a warning that I'm reaching my limit?

Soft animals

Before you read this post, you should take a look at what inspired it. Jamie Ridler has been writing of the vulnerabilities of our desires and invites us to share those things that we might be most afraid of sharing - what poet Mary Oliver portrays in the lines:

"You have only to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves..."

Jamie suggests we should "clear away our cobwebs of limiting beliefs". This ties in beautifully with what I have been reading in the classic book on writing 'If you want to write' by Brenda Ueland. Brenda talks about being true to oneself. I was so struck by this quote that I was moved to write it down so I could keep reminding myself of it:

"Everyone is original, if he tells the truth, if he speaks from himself. But it muts be from his true self and not from the self he thinks he should be."

Last night I wore my goals on my sleeve and posted a journal entry sharing what I hope to be achieving in the coming months - you can read it here. It wasn't an easy thing to share and I contemplated keeping it private but I'm also a firm believer in sharing your desires with the universe or, at the very least, writing them down. I know that if I don't make effort to achieve these goals now then I'll feel guilty because I told you I would. It's well-needed motivation and a tried and tested way of putting pressure on myself.

In terms of perhaps sharing some of the 'softer' desires, the embarrassing tracks on the ipod type thing. I am not afraid of admitting my geekiness and sharing what is me with the world. Naturally some things should and do remain private but I don't mind letting people see what makes me tick and in fact like to think of myself as a little bit eccentric. I'm not exactly what people would call a shrinking violet. When I was a child I was always worrying about what people would think. Then one day - when I was in my teens I think - I just stopped with the realisation that if friends accepted me for who I was and respected you for your unique opinions, points of view and dodgy musical taste!

However, perhaps I should confess one little secret about me. As we were talking about 'soft animals' it reminded me that I still like to cuddle a soft animal in bed every now and again! One of my favourite things to look at is a child clutching their favourite toy in slumber - I guess I am rather a softie at heart and need my comfort.

Dreams taking flight

Like around 900 other creatives, I am joining Tam on her Heart, Art & Healing. First up was banishing fears and insecurities. I took things a step further and decided that setting a few goals out into the atmosphere might be a good thing (plus it fitted rather nicely with the Three Muses' Wings on Things theme this week!). I don't often art journal so this was rather a pleasant change for me.

So here are a few goals (with wings from Iktupulli). The girl represents me - though I look nothing like that. I think I might have been influenced by watching Star Wars at the weekend (I don't think I will ever get tired of watching that film! My son loved it by the way and wanted to watch The Empire Strikes Back straight after!).

1. Start that book. Yes, yes, I know. I keep writing this goal. However, I have some thoughts... a few seeds germinating in the corner of my subconscious... It could be time... It really could...

2. Be published by Stampington. Oh how I adore Artful Blogging and her sister publications. Now all I have to do is get myself organised, check out their submission guidelines and topics and SEND SOMETHING OFF!!

3. Revamp, rebrand and relaunch my Etsy shop. I have completely neglected my shop. It's partly because I have so many ideas for it - involving a new name for a start - that I feel a touch overwhelmed and have ended up barely starting anything. I've decided that The Wright Stuff doesn't really match my artistic output and could get confused with my blog. So, time for a change. I'm also looking into getting prints made up of my work and bogged down with what printers to choose, what papers, what service...

4. Lose 5kg and fit in that dress. The diet is working. I have lost a little weight, but and that's a big BUT I have toned up considerably and the dress now does up (if a little tightly). It's rather linked into point 5 - you see I'm going to an awards ceremony in November at a posh London hotel. The 5kg is to get me back to my comfortable weight so other clothes fit too!

5. Win something. Team efforts count here too. At the posh awards ceremony we're finalists for two business awards. I wrote the entries so certain amount of pride here! I was also doing well with the Dorset Blog Awards but some baking lady is beating me by about 10 votes... Hmm, muffins obviously proving popular. Perhaps I should paint cakes for the rest of the month...

Do you dream...

Do you dream in black & white, or let your coloured wings take flight?

A dream theme from the Three Muses - this could have kept me busy for a week and indeed it was a bit of a late one last night as I snipped and dipped. This mixed media piece contains... wait for it... acrylics, collage, stamping, inks, tissue, old book, a scrap of black lace... with the final edition a little omni spotlight from photoshop to really highlight the butterfly.

I am very tempted to write a long post about my weird and wonderful dreams but won't for several reasons. 1) It can be rather boring listening to other people's night time adventures; 2) You might think I'm insane; 3) I must get back to my novel!

A customer in need is a .... pest?

Last night I dreamt I was trying to buy a train ticket and catch a train to London.. from Polzeath… not sure what I was doing there and if that small Cornish resort even has a railway station, but that’s dreams for you! After experiencing some frustration in purchasing the ticket, including a near punch-up with an old lady who tried to queue jump and looked a bit like my Grandma, I finally got my ticket only to miss my train by one minute because I couldn’t find the train times. (Stick with me, there is actually a point to this rambling!)

The scene then switched to another angry customer complaining vociferously that they were bombarded with irrelevant information all over the station, including useless facts on advertising hoardings. All they wanted to find out what platform they needed to be on and when. Was that too much to ask? Rather than do the usual English thing of avoiding making eye contact with everyone; I instead stood on a chair and applauded this revolutionary outpouring. I was joined by the person standing next to me, then another and another, until eventually the whole station was applauding. It felt great. Then I woke up.

It may be entirely unrelated but I believe this subconscious rallying against poor customer service stemmed from a trip to the library earlier in the day when I waited patiently at the counter to pay my fines (tish – bad girl!). The ‘assistant’ was fully aware of me standing there trying awkwardly to balance a pile of books on a service desk that contains no space for such items. I mean this is a library, what do you expect!

However, he was rather busy sticking pointless labels in books. Pointless because the library has now gone self-service and your book is no longer stamped with the expected return date. Instead you wave your ticket under a laser beam and receive a receipt which you are expected to keep track of for however many weeks or remember when your books are due back (hence the fine…. I believe it’s a stealthy way of making more money out of us personally….). When he finally deigned to acknowledge my presence the look he gave me was one of withering contempt. How very dare I interrupt his important work? Who did I think I was? His eyes bored into me and I shrank a good few inches (not around the waist though, which would have been useful).

Quaking in my flip flops I explained I owed him some money. Tap tap tap on the computer as he fixed me with a beady glare and pursed his lips and prepared to tut. I handed over my coins and scurried off to the self service machine to check my books out and collect the receipt that I’ve already lost.

I left dejected and feeling slightly guilty. Am I really such a nuisance? Or had he perhaps somewhere along the line forgotten the point of his occupation. For surely it is to provide a service to the community - that being me. I may bring my books back a little late occasionally but it's my visits and token fines that pay his wages. The library is there for me not as a warm room in which to stick bits of paper on fly sleeves.

So, if you are reading this young man - take note - I have stamped your ticket!

Still, at least customer service is not dead in this country. Far from it in fact. I can think of plenty of great examples but it's late and I'm tired and I guess you're probably bored by now anyway! All this talk of librarians is sending me to sleep. Night folks.

Mostly there

Today I am not here, in fact I am mostly there... Where? Well at the moment it's somewhere that's a cross between a sun-drenched Greek island, a Provençal vineyard and the soft sands of a Barbados beach. I'm drinking rose wine, nibbling on honey-sticky baklava, reading Conde Nast and watching Sir Trevor McDonut exploring the secret side of the Caribbean. I bought some out-of-date cheap magazines today with a view to rip them up and collage with them, but they are drawing me into their glossy pages and distracting me with images of a warm breeze rustling through the palm trees, sensually draped windows, oak-beamed farmhouses and evocative trelliswork. Maybe I shouldn't be reading the likes of The World of Interiors and Conde Nast when I can only justify buying them past their sell by date - and with the intention of turning a profit with my artistic creations! Or, maybe this is the stuff of dreams that can come true. Why not move to Barbados?

PS: And what another serendipitous moment to discover that the page of palm I tore out of from Conde Nast mysteriously matches the woodwork of the windowsill in a Wiltshire manor in (expensive) Interiors.

PPS: And then, even more serendippidussly, I browse some blogs and find this post...

PPPS: How much is the ticket?

Marathon Woman

The subconscious is a remarkable thing. Last night, whilst in the land of nod, it decided to remind me about the other recurring dream I had forgotten to mention in my post of yesterday. And how did it do this?- why by sending me on a 26 mile run of course. Yes, I frequently exert myself over a marathon's course in my sleep and I might point out that I do very well at it - barely a bead of sweat marks my brow. Yesterday, I got to participate in the little-known Kettering marathon, a walk in the park dear readers, a mere walk in the park!
PS: that Emma Baker still hasn't read my blog, or she'll surely have commented on it by now... One more day Emma, then the photo goes up!

The stuff of dreams

I have a number of recurring dreams which intersperse themselves among the downright weird and freaky. Recently, for example, I dreamt I was at a large dinner party and was lucky enough to be seated next to Charlie Chaplin. He was really rather charming and can actually speak which was never particularly apparent in all those silent movies he obviously preferred to star in. I can't think why because he spoke with a most cultured accent! This was the first dream about the 'little tramp', but by no means the first about famous folk. Naturally we all dream about being seduced by Hugh Jackman every now and again, but I have a persistent sleeping fascination with Kevin Spacey. According to my dreamworld we are in fact best buddies with a friendship going back years. Regrettably I have never actually met the man in person though I used to hang out near the Old Vic which he owns. Well, I say hang out, that makes me sound like a wino loitering in the loosely named gardens opposite the theatre. I'm afraid, I was rather dull and worked for a local financial institution. [here comes a digression: I was going to say that I would have been unlikely to have bumped into a Hollywood A-lister at 3i plc, but I did meet the occasional celeb there - I literally got tangled up with Michael Portillo in the revolving doors, shared a lift with former Radio 1 DJ Peter Powell (very short, looks like a builder) and almost burst with excitement when I spotted Sir Trevor McDonut sitting in reception (very distinguished, looks like a newsreader).

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, dreams. I frequently have to go through the panic of realising that my finals are imminent and I haven't done any revision or preparation and wake up with a cold sweat and the urge to stroke my degree certificate.

And finally, one which perhaps I should not share but loosely involves trying to find a public convenience with a door... Let's just leave it at that...

What is all this waffle and, more importantly, why? Will I wake up soon?

Back on Masterchef again

It's the final this week and gripping stuff, I almost can't bear to watch. However, the material for this post comes not from the food and cooking, nor the presentation and anticipation. Instead, it is simply from something that one of the finalists said "If you have a dream then you owe it to yourself to go for it." A little reminder that this writing IS my dream. It is something I have always wanted and this is my big opportunity to give it my all. Next week I will be officially redundant from Carlsberg. I have no job to go to, so writing and working for myself will be my role and I must get on with it, allowing no distraction. How easy it would be to fall into a pit of self pity, or to ensconce myself on the sofa digesting a diet of moving house programmes (at least I know I would never stoop so low as Jeremy Kyle!). Thankfully Masterchef finishes tomorrow so I'll be regaining a chunk of my evening!

Off now to indulge in Molton Brown bath soak then slip between clean sheets. Ah bliss...