Wednesday, July 30, 2014

When people become memories

Yesterday was truly the craziest day I've had in a long time. I had a video interview, a photoshoot, another interview and a meeting with my gallerist. Then I had drinks after all that to farewell Joe off for the last time on his homeward bound adventure. By the time the evening rolled around my voice was reduced to a raspy almost nothing, yet was still going at 100 miles an hour - in conjunction with my thoughts.

I'm not too sure what compelled me to organise all these things on the one day, but come to think of it, it literally is because at the moment, there aren't enough hours in a single day. I swear I would have talked for 8 hours straight yesterday. Not usually my style.

When I finally met Joe the sun had well and truly set and I was ready for some fries and a beer. After a typically lovely but rather bittersweet evening, we parted ways for the last time on Gertrude Street outside our favourite bar. I walked back down in the direction of Smith Street, past Gertrude Contemporary, a place I will call home in a matter of months. I peered in the window as I went by, wishing I already had my key but knowing that waiting will make it even sweeter. I walked very tall and suddenly felt a sense of unfamiliar pride and self confidence surge through my body. It came about by knowing that someone else was proud of me, that a peer seemed to actually recognise and genuinely acknowledge without the patronising niceties, sweet nothings or tinges of resentment - how damn hard I've worked and how much I've accomplished because of it. They believed this still, despite me displaying my weaknesses, confessing my fears, letting my eyes well up in public. I wanted to walk with that feeling for a bit longer, because it could vanish before I even had a chance to remember it, so I continued a little further before hailing a cab home. I had my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket, and I wasn't happy and I wasn't sad. I was neutral, which is rare for me - calm, and I just let the subsequent grittiness and brilliance of my current situation wash over me. I sunk down in the back passenger seat of the taxi and looked out the window, trying to remember every scene I saw through the orange lit front window of suburban houses as I zoomed past. I thought about how hellos become goodbyes so quickly, before you can get your footing or a even a tentative grasp onto something solid - and maybe about how beautiful that is.

Me this morning before work (weird hand position is me holding my turtleneck)
'All I wanna do is ride bikes with you' page in my scrapbook - 29th July 2014
I also have one more thing to report on. I bought a black, wool turtleneck jumper. I haven't had it off since I bought it, and can I just say it's like changed my life. I am now a beatnik and speak only in beat poetry. I've been wearing it with my high waisted black jodhpurs and leopard print swing coat (in my last post) and feel so slick. I never wear black really, but doing it makes me feel like I'm part of some cool club I never had access to before. Wearing black makes me feel like I'm receding, and at the moment I'm in the mood to dress in the shadows. That's okay, my art can do the talking for me when I wanna hide. I love that :)

1 comment:

  1. It sucks that writers can't hide behind their words. People will just keep asking, " But what are you REALLY saying? "