Tangent: Good Morning London

Sunrise this morning

Crisp

Cold

London

Glorious London!

First daffs

Not from my garden (yet)

Bright

Yellow

Cheerful

Spring will come!

Tangent: Good morning London

This is the sight that greeted me this morning from the back bedroom window (my 'studio'). Isn't it just perfect?
Made me sing the lyrics of :
'Good Morning Starshine' from 'Hair' (for those who remember it!)

So, it's a:
'Gliddy glub gloopy
Nibby nabby noopy
La la la lo lo'
to you all out there in blogland this morning.

Tangent: My dream house/s

As I have two sides to my personality, the outgoing, friendly, happy go lucky side and the quiet, introspective, very serious side, I had to design two ' ideal ' houses I would live in for Monday Artday.

My quieter side would love nothing more than to be a million miles from anywhere and anyone, in a cute quaint little cottage, isolated and -just - um -quiet....

My other house would have to be big, bold and probably shaped like a question mark, as I am so curious and interested in everything and everyone around me.

Where I live in London sort of satisfies quite a lot of both.
Although we live in a quiet outer London suburb, and my street is a cul - de - sac, of only one block of houses, I am within 30 minutes by tube to the centre of London.

These days I mostly enjoy coming home, entering my front door, heaving a sigh of relief and shutting the whole world out!

Tangent: Opera

Number Eighteen : Go to the Opera:

Last weekend we went to see the new revived performance of 'Carmen Jones' at the Royal festival Hall in London, and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Of course, it was nothing like true opera, very modernised and liberated, but I recognised all the music and hummed along to the tunes. It was vibrant, exciting, clourful and dynamic.

If that's what can be done with opera, then I'm a new fan!

Tangent: Nelson Mandela

I painted this picture of Nelson Mandela in 2003. Isn't it glorious?

Yesterday, 29th August 2007, a statue of Nelson Mandela was unveiled in Parliament Square in London. I forgot the date, and wasn't there to see him, so feel cross with myself.

When asked who I admire most in my life, my immediate reply is always 'Nelson Mandela'. I remember the day he was released from prison (11th February 2000). We were all watching it on TV and crying. There is no greater man than this one, his love of mankind and his penchant for forgiveness are great examples to emulate. Hail 'Madiba'.

Thirty-four: Paint and paint and paint

Tate Modern

Disorder

Alarming

Gut wrenching

Intriguing

A huge 'Mind Fuck'

And the realisation that I may have an artistic bone in me after all!

Tangent: My Wonderful Bro

While we were sitting in the lounge yesterday, I drew my Bro, but it's not true to life at all.

He's much bigger, broader, rounder and older. He thought this one was too 'fat', but he obviously hasn't looked in the mirror for years!

I adore having him here in London with me!

(IF:Visitors)

Thirty-Three: Explore London

We had a wonderful day out in London yesterday, going to the Tate Modern Art Gallery, crossing the Millenium Bridge, approached St Paul's Cathedral, fed the pigeons and enjoyed the hubbub and eccentricity of the locals.

Intend to do this more often, as I do love London.

Tangent: Friends, old and new

Me and Rayna - South Africa - December 1984





Being an Aquarian, which is known as the 'friendship' sign of the zodiac, I find it very easy to make friends. Or should I say, I seem to 'collect' people who consider themselves my friends, like others collect stamps or theatre programmes.

Everyone is drawn to my cheery nature, my enthusiasm, my youthfulness and my energy (their words, not mine), as well as my 'always there for you' personality. I am a real chatterbox who loves the odd bit of gossip; okay, okay, I love the whole bit of gossip.

Mostly, I suppose, I rely on the 'when you laugh, the whole world laughs with you, when you cry, you cry alone!' principle, and this makes me a people magnet, specially those who need to cry and cry and cry. They get some sort of internal message that I provide a good 'shoulder' for anyone and everyone.

But as far as considering them my friends, there are very very few.

My 'old' friends are not those old in age, but in longevity of friendship. I met Priscilla (who I've mentioned before) when I was 4 and she 5. They lived in the house behind us and it was 'like' at first sight, and 55 years later, we are still very much 'in like' with each other.

My other dear friend, Rayna, who I met at 20, is still my dear friend after 40 years. I shared a flat with her the year I started teaching and we used to talk and giggle late into the night. We have recently re-connected after many years, and it's the same as back in 1969.

Nowadays I seem to be drawn to the younger generation, making friends with Christine in Kuwait, she at 30, me at nearly 50, and now I have a new 'best' friend, Lorraine, she at 30, me at nearly 60.

I find it exceedingly hard to keep 'floating' acquaintances for too long. They are linked to me usually by rather a weak, common link, e.g. work, or an art course or a short holiday meeting. But, when I do make a true friend, it is for life.

Maybe it's because most of us live continents apart from each other, that we have remained friends.

My definition of a good friend is:
someone who is as interested in me, as I am in her.
someone who says she cares about me and means it.
someone I feel I could ring in the middle of the night if I were in trouble and she would drop everything and come.

So, here's to you, Cilla, Rayna, Chris and Bev! Quality, not quantity!




Me and Rayna - London - December 2006

One: Get a tattoo

Not my first but my second. The first was at 50, upon entering that mature phase of ones life, oh yes and waiting expectantly for oodles of wisdom that would appear miraculously in the middle of the night.

So off I went while living in Cape Town ( gorgeous Cape Town) to some grungy, dingy, dodgy looking 'dive' adorned with dozens of horrific sketches of anything and everything you could have attached to any part of your anatomy.

Why you might ask, why did I choose that particular 'establishment'? Purely on recommendation, oh yes, it was a recommendation from one of my colleagues at school, another well -respected middle -aged member of the community, who had just had an adorable little blue dolphin tattooed on her right hip.

The only female tattooist in the whole place was deftly covering a man's back with an intricate dragon, so I turned blushingly to the only other person there,and stammeringly asked him to do the deed before I lost my nerve.
He invited me into his 'parlour' behind a bright red curtain- the colour of blood - I thought panicking.

At that stage I wasn't going to lift up my dress to display my hip ( I had not even thought to wear a skirt and blouse that day), so I clumsily pulled my bodice sideways, and showing him the left side of my upper chest, asked for a 'fish', a 'very small fish' and 'will it hurt?' and 'are your instruments clean?'

He chuckled and went off to fetch me a much-thumbed catalogue/sketch book/of fish- all sorts of wierd and wonderful, intricate and simple forms; and asked me to choose one of them, which I did, by now in a complete tizz. Here I was about to change the appearance of my upper torso forever and making an instant decision without even getting a second opinion, like 'how does this look on me? ' or 'do you think this one will suit me? or even 'is this the right place to put this?

I won't describe the rest to you, only to say that having a baby was preferable, but Steve (who had his face as close to mine as any ardent lover might have) was so calm and chatty and complimentary about me, my age,my skin, bla bla that I relaxed and even started to enjoy the whole experience, patting myself on the back for this extreme form of bravery and determination, this willingness to be scarred forever by a complete stranger who I would never see again.

The result is one that I am thrilled with and love to this day, my little fishie that everyone remarks on when my blouse tends to fall slightly open, that the older kids at school 'ooh' and 'aah' about, giggling behind their hands at this really 'old' teacher with a tattoo.

So, before I turn 60 I will be having the next one done, and then the next when I turn 70, and 80.

Anyone out there who can recommend a not too grungy, not too dingy, not too dodgy dive somewhere in London?