This post germinated from an assignment that didn’t fall as planned - a diary of my initial encounters with my MA in Illustration. A new course, a new home, and the settling of a direction that’s been on the cards for a while.
The idea was a series of posts - and I found myself both excited and overwhelmed by the myriad of expression - the plethora of media that began to, frankly, shred my head. And, as I was getting the ideas under control, the impact of time, technology and seeing what others had done forced a change in plans. Still - the ideas are there. My blog is chronically overdue, and there’s gotta be something that will come out of this other stuff - right?
So a diary? By it’s nature a diary is a work in progress - ongoing, and something that really needs about four decades worth of snippets to put into context. This I don’t have. Rather, I guess, this (and possibly subsequent posts) composes snapshots of a narrative, charting the move to the here, and the now. The hustle, the settle-in, the nick and the naks.
But each moment contains within a series of befores and whys - of what-ifs and thank G(g)ods: a life-change, a wake-up, an Ohshitohshitohshit: a process - a roll of the dice.
So there’s the practical - boxes and flat-packs, money and houses; the physical - lifting, sleeping - moving and stopping; places and faces; swirl and still; the predictable - the regulated - queues and log-ins and ons; the tremors and gasps - the changes, reactions and adaptions. Maybe even some philosophy will eek its way out of the words and pictures that scatter this process?
Since my last post I find myself in a new place - physically, geographically, professionally and intellectually. In a nutshell - I’ve left my job (yay), been diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, moved house and begun the above mentioned MA - so diary entries about my first week have a lot of context.
This has all been exacerbated by the strange slow-sprint of the summer - which has gone by like the torturous wait before the snap of an elastic band. An uphill run followed by a stumble and prolonged roly-poly to the bottom. House - sold, packed - boxes-dump-bags-tip-boxes-market-tip-van-pizza-boxes-van-upstairs-downstairs-garage-tip-boxes-IKEA-boxes-instructions-boxes-empty!
In amongst has been diagnosis, saying goodbye, a drugs trial, a new course, testing, excitement and nostalgia. It's been a trip.
To clear my head I roam the city. I want to aclimatise - to pin down geography and find a relationship to the streets and buildings around me: sketching here, reading there.
Slowy, through the surgical drip of city and text, ideas and focus sprout shoots. The new city - at first incomprehensible, full of ways and wynds - different parallels of horizontal and vertical - textures new and familiar.
With each step and stroke of pen the overwhelming becomes tangible - the taste forming in the eye and brain. And so I start to feel at home - in a new home. Start to re-find the energy and hope to take the step forward - to feel deserving of my chance. Another breath, another blink to see the not just the potholes, but where the road forks, and where it may - just - lead.