I feel as bleak as the weather; a mean cold spring is chasing the warmth from my hands and from my eyes; I can see only grey and white these days.
I seem to wake up in a rush; excited by proxy. My mind is telling me that today will be the day I crack the riddle of the view and besides the sun will be shining and, and, and.
But, blow me down, by lunchtime I will be ready for bed again; my electric blanket and whatever book I’m currently reading seeming such a brilliant alternative to pacing the studio and shouting at the cockatiels for eating all my sculptures and crapping in the clay.
But some of my bleakness has found its way into the last views; the plaques are not yet fired and I am scared to bisque them – I love the colours of the un-fired work.
This last one cracks me up completely every time I look at it. The clouds too large for the frame. So hugely claustrophobic. Rather like my feelings at the moment. I might just take one huge breath of air one of these days and watch the studio, the house, the town explode into a cloud of rubble.