Learning slowly

Things are never what they seem. After two dreadful nights sleeping separately, with, to quote Bruce Springsteen,‘ a freight train running through the middle of my head’, and a stomach churning with anxiety and distress, The Lodger and I are back on.

What do you do when life throws something unexpected at you? I certainly wasn’t expecting a paying guest to become a lover, and a friend. And recently out of a marriage I’m sure it was the last thing he was expecting as well.

So, I have learnt to relax, and chill. I have had it with stressful relationships. I have learnt to take it one day at a time, that the less you expect, the more you receive, and the more you value what you have. I have spent years in relationships worrying needlessly, when things have a way of working themselves out anyway.

Things are good, I have no idea where they are heading, but I am attempting to,live life with grace and calmness, one day at a time, and it feels good.

The interference of feelings

Somewhere along the line during the last month I have fallen from being smitten to being bemused, besotted and finally, broken. Yes, I fell totally for the lodger. I have spent the last four weeks with a man in my bed who has made me laugh, think, eat and drink, and it has been bliss.

Unfortunately we are not in the same place, recently single he is in no way ready to leap into another relationship. And I would be deeply wary of anyone who was. But it seems that I appear to want more than he does, and perhaps I do. Not today, not this month, but maybe later, when he is ready. Sadly today my growing feelings have made him feel cornered, he has withdrawn, and I am left feeling confused and abandoned.

It seems after one marriage, one great love and numerous short-term relationships I still understand very little about men. However I do know that I am best to look after myself, continue to live well, live in the moment, and be positive about all that I do have. But it still hurts, and even though he remains under the same roof I miss him madly.

The Teenager

Despite it now being five months since the teenager set off on her Grand Adventure, I feel very much like a part of her is still very close to home. It doesn’t really change that much. Instead of receiving calls asking what’s for dinner and what time will you be home, or can you pick me up/drop me off, now I get texts and emails, a sample of which are below, they arrive at all hours. It’s astonishing really.

• I can’t check into my hostel for four hours, can you Google where I can leave my bags?
• I’m lost; can you tell me where I am?
• I love you.
• The train lurched whilst I was peeing and I slipped on the seat, will I get Aids?
• I’ve lost my bankcard and have no money.
• What’s Western Union, stop talking about it, I don’t know what you mean.
• Thanks for sending the money through Western Union.
• Can you please stop texting me, it’s costing me too much money.
• Why don’t you text me, don’t you care?
• How many calories in a sweet potato, can you please Google it?
• What thank you present should I buy great aunt P for having me? (3.50 am)
• There’s no florist near here. (4.00 am)
• Sorry for waking you. (4.40 am)
• I don’t have my new pin number, and have no money. (3.25 am)
• The bank has given me an advance, I’m ok. (4.15 am)
• Sorry to wake you, I love you. (5.00 am)
• Skype me now. You look tired, what have you been doing?

I am exhausted.

Signs of the times

I have always loved my neighbourhood for its diversity of residents, workers and visitors. Originally a poor working-class inner city suburb, and largely industrial, it has over time given way to migrant families with front gardens full of vegetables rather than flowers, artists looking for affordable space in which to work, and young urban professionals who fancy the cool edginess of it all. Cafes, bookshops and uber cool restaurants have moved in and our neighbourhood is slowly changing.

When I first moved in heroin was cheap, readily available and it’s users highly visible on the street. Needles were often left on our doorstep, and frequently littered the gutters. The users were a part of our community, and for the most part either walked the streets, or sat nodding off on street benches. They in no way ever threatened us or our sense of safety. I have always felt that witnessing that part of our community put my daughter in good stead, and it has. She is street-wise, safe and smart. At nineteen she is often offered an array of drugs at parties and clubs, and any parent that thinks this does not happen is deluding themselves. Unlike some of her friends who have lead more sheltered lives, she has no desire to take part in it.

For whatever reason, the last ten years or so the users, along with the needles, have for the large part, disappeared from our neighbourhood. Possibly the methadone programs available have provided an alternate solution, rent and housing prices have gone up, or it’s just been too expensive or hard to get. I don’t know. What I do know is that this week I have noticed a return of the spaced-out wandering our streets, and the occasional needle in the laneways. Is there a parallel to the slow recovery from the GFC? Is heroin plentiful and cheap again? Is it the thought of the holiday season looming, or is life just getting too hard?

Today I saw one of our regular homeless men wandering in the street, rake-thin, dishevelled and out of it. I was saddened to see him in this state as he’s always been a bit of a curious hero to me. He is handsome, cheeky, smart, and has a devilish smile. If there were a film made of his life, Johnny Depp would play his role. For years he has taken it upon himself to collect rubbish in our streets, bagging it and binning it like a man possessed, his only reward the occasional bit of spare change from a passer-by. If you stopped and talked to him, it was always a treat, listening to his views on politics, philosophy and music. Once I saw him drive past in a convertible sports car with the top down, and grinning from ear to ear. As I said, he is a curious man. Seeing him today so thin, so out of it prompted me to write this post. As I watched him barely managing to walk a straight line, he stopped to pick up a stray leaf from the road, and put it in his pocket. Bless him.

And for the record, yes I remain smitten with the lodger.

On being smitten

I admit it. I am completely smitten. It's ridiculous, but I have a schoolgirl crush on the Paying Guest. I blush, trip over my words, squeak, and generally fumble about. I'm sure that he thinks I'm completely mad. Fortunately he is away for a few days, so I will try to collect myself and regain some composure.

But it has made me rethink men. More specifically what is it that attracts us? I know we compiled a fantastic list of the things that we DON'T fancy in men (see the lovely notSupermum for the complete Harry High-Pants No-No List), but what are the things that DO attract us?

Clearly in my case I have thrown all, or most, of my tick-list out the window on this one. The PG is not George Clooney, or Johnny Depp. He is dishevelled, bumbling, pudgy and should seriously rethink his sideburns. But he is kind, funny, intelligent and interesting. He is passionate about food and the cooking, eating and ethics of it, and has chosen to abandon a 'sensible' career in order to follow his passion. I think I fell whilst watching him cook, mixing the salad with his hands. Talk about sexy.

So, what really turns us on? For starters I propose the following:

• Good personal hygiene. Not obsessive, just clean and nice-smelling
• Kindness
• Humour
• A passion for something
  
• A good smile
• A good mind
• (a new personal favourite) the ability to cook
  

I could go on with the more superficial items such as crumpled linen shirts NOT tucked in, and dark jeans, but I am more curious at my own abandonment of the things I thought usually matter. It's certainly been food for thought.

Tales of the lodger

I suspect this blog may turn to regular tales of the lodger, and I wonder how long he will last. So far he shows remarkable patience and good humour, bless. On his first night the cat peed on his clothes. On the second, in his shoes. He now knows to put them away.

Last night at dinner I failed to notice that one of the candles had burnt down to stumps, and the table was on fire! And the cat threw up next to us, for good measure. Fawlty Towers? I can't wait to see what happens next!

A new housemate!

The past six weeks or so, since my return from a wonderful and decadent university-funded month in Italy, (along with a few extra kilos!), has been somewhat of a blur. Re-entry to life without The Teenager (still travelling) has been mixed, it was so good to see her but just when I am really missing her she sends me an urgent text message or email requiring immediate action on my part, reminding me of the aspects I enjoy about her temporary absence.

• A tidy(ish) house.
• Privacy in my love-life (if only I had one!)
• Cooking what I want to eat, when I want to, and the time to work late if I wish.
• The time to attempt to get to grips with my thesis, and to focus on my career.
• The time to go out with friends and skip dinner altogether, which is probably not such a great idea, given the tumbles I have taken navigating my way home on my bicycle!

On other matters:

Along with many others, the GFC has not been kind to artists, although the dealers are saying that the market is slowly recovering. Many friends, excellent artists, have had dismal sales of late, me included. As a result I have taken on a bit of teaching, and more interestingly, a Paying Guest. Yes, I have let out The Teenager’s room. It took a massive amount of effort to pack up all her belongings, and find somewhere to store them (my bedroom, great!), and there were some interesting finds under the bed. Perhaps David Attenborough could do a series on Life under Teenagers Beds. However, now the room is pristine, the PG is ensconced, and we are slowly familiarising ourselves with each other’s idiosyncrasies. We’ve broken the ice with breakfast in our pyjamas, and a little too much wine after dinner (dangerous as I tend to get ‘beer goggles’ after a few drinks!). The cat took it upon himself to test out our new housemate by peeing on his clothes. Fortunately he took it in his stride, and handled it with good grace. And he now knows not to leave his clothes on the floor.

Despite the lack of sales, I have had a very good year critically, been short-listed for several prizes, and had very positive feedback from my university supervisor and my dealers about my work. I also have a very supportive counsellor who helps me steer my way with both The Teenager, The Ex and life in general. To reinforce her support she has recently purchased a large work of mine. Although things have been difficult I am fortunate and appreciative to have these people around me. And I am confident it will be better soon.

X Sunday

In the Deep End!

Call me petty, immature even, but what is with women who go to water aerobics exercise classes and don’t want to get their hair wet? I know it can be a pain having to dry your hair afterwards, and can discolour highlights, but really, if you’re that fussed about your ‘do’ maybe a land-based form of exercise might be an idea? Or God-forbid, invest in a bathing cap? It isn’t necessary to get drenched, but some splashing should be tolerated as inevitable.

I attend such a class regularly, mainly in order to keep somewhat trim, enough so that I can eat and drink as much as I like, the fitness is a just a perk! But, there is always one, isn’t there? ‘Duck-bum’ also attends regularly, and obviously has a weekly set at the hairdressers. It is so coiffed I swear it wouldn’t move in a hurricane. And she does not like me, or rather my enthusiasm for the class. Inevitably we end up next to each other, and goaded by her tutting and huffing, I have become even more enthusiastic, and oops, occasionally her hair gets a light splash! Why this amuses me so much I am not sure, but clearly she does not share my sense of humour! Am I being over-the-top?

The trials and tyranny of a teenager’s diet

The Teenager has for the last few years been on a self-imposed diet, of sorts. It changes form from time to time, but the desired end result remains the same. Basically she wishes to be rake thin, similar to the model images she sees in magazines and blogs. This is at odds with a girl who loves food and cooking. But she is 19 and vulnerable, and I pray that this will pass.

For several years now all forms of ‘carbs’ have been off-limits, pasta, rice, bread and potatoes. Fortunately she seems to think oats are ok. Recently she made the switch to soy rather than dairy. Nuts are now a no-no. Omelettes are made with egg whites only, and she is forever hungry. To combat this she eats vast amounts – breakfast may be a large bowl of oats with soy milk and apple, but a couple of hours later she is hungry again, and munching on another piece of fruit. Enormous salads (no oil) for lunch. All very healthy, but just so much.

The sad thing is that she is not over-weight, but rather a healthy ‘normal’ size 10, well-proportioned shape and size. And beautiful. How she sees herself is somewhat different, adjectives such as “obese, morbidly obese, huge, fat, and ugly” regularly spring from her lips. How others see her bothers her greatly as she believes everyone sees her as she imagines herself to be. As a parent it is both disturbing, and heart-breaking to hear.

Certainly all that she does eat is healthy, partly perhaps because as a family we’ve always been into fresh and seasonal food, and she exercises daily. Yet despite all her efforts, her body shape remains much the same. She is gorgeous, and often told so, but she still cannot get it. Being a ‘foodie’ doesn’t help; imagine her dismay in Italy when presented with great meal choices that she cannot allow herself to have.

I’ve tried offering help such as counselling, shiatsu (for anxiety, which she did try, and seemed to help), talking about it, and not talking about it. It seems to be something she has to work through herself. As her physical health is not in danger, I feel we need to ride it out, and just be there for her. Thankfully, these self-depreciating sessions do not last long, and 90% of the time I have a happy, confident, out-going and well-mannered teenager on my hands. It's just that other 10% that is a bit exhausting.

I am in love.......

with almost all things Italian.

I have returned home after nearly missing my flight due to having slipped into a totally relaxed holiday state and forgetting my actual departure date. By chance I happened to check my ticket only to discover that I was due to leave that afternoon! A mad dash to throw my belongings into my bag, a hasty farewell to my mother before my father, my daughter and I sped off to Rome. I'm never good at goodbyes at the best of times, so perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. The hardest part was saying goodbye to The Teenager at the airport as I won't be seeing her again until after Christmas. When she first proposed taking a gap year between school and university I was a tiny bit hesitant, but having seen just how much she has learnt from travelling, organising herself, budgeting and surviving, I am now 100 percent behind the concept. She has managed magnificently, seen all that she should, had fun and adventures, and met some great people along the way. It was fabulous to have three weeks with her, and to see just how well she is doing. Of course she still had her moments, which reminded me of the aspects of being home alone that I am currently enjoying!

Italy. Such a dreamy time to visit, sunny days and cooler evenings, I was in heaven. Morning cappuccinos and pre-dinner proseccos at the bar, idling away the time thinking about lunch and dinner, whilst surreptitiously keeping an eye on the gorgeous Italian men who just get the look right, seemingly without effort. Great jeans, crumpled linen shirts and loafers with no socks, why do so many men of the world get it so wrong?

Of course whilst it was wonderful to be with family and friends, I was conscious of my study duties, and did actually set aside time for things other than food, wine and gazing at men. The beautiful sketchbook given to me did get a few drawings in it, and the notebooks are filled with notes taken whilst looking at great works of art.

I spent a week in Venice looking at art both old and new, as well as revisiting some old favourites, of which Bellini is one. A week of expensive food, cheap wine and good coffee. A week of getting lost in all the lane ways (and making a mental note not to retire there, imagine living in Venice and having Alzheimer's!), discovering great hidden bars and cafes, meandering through the markets and wishing I had a kitchen, a week of mostly rain and still finding it incredibly beautiful, a week of seeing Turner in every view, and a week of wishing I had more money to shop!

Of the Biennale, there was the usual mix of the good, the bad and the downright ugly. Whilst there were some interesting artists at the Giardini, it was the Arsenale that I most loved. Despite some flooding at the end of the building (and what an incredible building it is!) everyone was very good-natured about it all and simply took off their shoes and waded through in bare feet. One of the most poetic works for me was by Ceal Floyer, whose work was the simple projection of a bonsai tree. Unmanicured, it was projected to the size that the actual tree would have become had it not been confined to its pot. The artist's statement talked of the literality being a conceptual tool to represent hidden or repressed truths, but I also saw it as an optimistic work, that spoke of potential and growth despite handicaps or outside pressure. Perhaps I was thinking of The Teenager.

Now it is back to the brushes, and more importantly, cracking on with my thesis, something I always seem to avoid by finding other things to do (such as this blog!). If only I was as good at writing as I am at procrastinating. The cat is beside himself with joy to have me home again, and all is well. I miss my daughter madly, but know that she is well and having a fantastic experience that will only enrich the wonderful young woman she is becoming. I have been home less than 48 hours, and have hit the ground running, but I will hang on as tightly as I can to the wonderful calm and memories that I have brought home with me. And think about what sort of risotto I will cook for dinner!

Dates, art, and travel

The last three weeks all seem to have run into one long blur. A lot of it through a haze of too many late nights and definitely too much wine. But fun! I am pleased to report that I have had no further bicycle incidents, despite going out for dinner again in high-heels and drinking more than the standard 'recommended' number of drinks before riding home. Oops!

Tomorrow I am off to Italy for three weeks. I will get to see the teenager, the parents and even the cousin (currently in disgrace for eloping and thus avoiding a cast of thousands wedding!). Ostensibly this trip is part of my research project, which involves looking at a lot of art and visiting the Venice Biennale, but which will also include a lot of food and wine 'research'! I can't wait! I have been given a gorgeous journal with lovely paper, so plan to do lots of little ink studies, it's a perfect size to carry around and rest on a cafe table whilst 'soaking up' the atmosphere!

Recently whilst trawling a dating website, and wondering just how many frogs one must kiss in order to secure a prince, I received an email from someone who sounds quite interesting and looks quite OK as well! And it seems that whilst he lives in the same city as me, he will be in the very same Italian town at the same time as me! This he mentioned before knowing that I was even going to Italy. Odd, huh? I may have to 'bump into' him there - it would be great cover from nosey teenagers as to how we met - and much more fun.

Blind Date No.2 sent me a text (two weeks later) saying it was "lovely to meet" me! Yes, that would be a euphemism! I'll forgive him the tardy text as he was actually away helping to save a remote village from immanent disaster. Luckily I don't mind, that inexplicable and often elusive 'chemistry' wasn't there really anyway. Cross fingers that it is for this one!

So back to packing, black, black and more black. I can't wait to see my daughter, and my family (best in small doses!). I will no doubt return fat, brown and hopefully with a lot of research done as well. See you all in three weeks,

Ciao for now,

Sunday x

Blind Date No.2 (or my inner hussy!)

The past week has been a blur of socialising, far too much alcohol and not enough writing, as the thesis requires some serious attention. But is has been fun!

Blind Date No. 2 turned out to be a lot more interesting than No.1. A bit on the old side for me at 55, but boyish looking, with the body of a 4o year old. Seriously fit! How do I know this? Blame my inner hussy but when he offered to stay and help with the washing up, he stayed! One of the perks of The Teenager being away,and I'd be mad not to make the most of it. It was great fun, but I doubt it will go any further than that, especially as he lives in a different city and regularly travels to far-flung places as part of his work. Still it has inspired me to give the Internet another go - I could do with a bit more of this!

Last night I went to a party for a visiting artist, drank far too much, and attempted to ride my bike home. Big mistake! I almost made it home when a lamppost leapt out at me causing a very inelegant tumble. I am now sporting a large red raw knee and some interesting yellow bruising up my leg and bum, which is already threatening to turn purple. Worse, the chain came off my bike, and I had to walk it home, in extremely high heels. At least it happened after the date!

Back to the thesis,

Sunday

I've been dumped!

I am in the somewhat ungainly position of trying to pick up my jaw from the floor, and my dignity from somewhere hopefully nearby. Here I have been thinking that I'd give the psychiatrist date another chance in case I was wrong about him, and he has pipped me to the post to inform me that he'd like to continue to see me socially but has recently become "romantically involved" with someone from the past! This would have been better if he had informed me a little earlier, but not after extending invitations to a couple of functions before disappearing off the radar for a few weeks. What was he thinking? Clearly not about me! Anyway in many ways I guess that answers my question. And he is definitely not for me!

On the flip side I have been taken on by another gallery in another city, who have offered me a show next year. It's proving to be a great year career-wise, if not for sales and boyfriends.

A fab invitation!

I have been invited to participate in a group exhibition in 2011 (sounds sooo far away!) at a very serious art institute. I am almost speechless, and very thrilled, if not a bit nervous. I have plenty of time to consider the proposal, collect my thoughts and prepare the work. It is a huge honour, and I just wanted to share the news!

A post for nSm!

Dearest nSm,

A posting as requested! I suspect you may be the only person who reads my blog anyway, so here is all the goss!

I would like to say I have been too busy with an exciting life and a million great dates, but mostly not! I have had a stream of visitors from out of town who request the spare bed. The only male who's even seen my bed lately is the cat.

The teenager is alive and well, and having a great time. Life has not entirely relaxed at this end however as there are still frequent texts and calls for help with anything from posting excess luggage back home, to finding train tickets... The house is a LOT tidier, and it feels very grown-up!

Oddly, the ex has been very sweet lately and makes a point of ringing daily to make sure I am ok. We have caught up over a couple of meals, including one at an old favourite, where they were so happy to see us together they were practically arranging our second mariage! Probably wouldn't go down well with his girlfriend, especially as they know her as well! Anyway, I have NO desire to go there again.

I have had a steady trickle of enquiries about my work since the show finished, a couple of commissions and a few more potential sales, with several people coming to the studio shortly. It all helps, I'm keen to go to Italy to see the Biennale. I have just heard that my work from the last prize I was short-listed for was voted 'viewers' choice', and there is a bit more magazine coverage coming up, which is great.

I have been procrastinating over my thesis, but have made it a mission to write for at least two hours a day now. Ha, so here I am procrastinating again! I justify it as a coffee break.

I have a 'blind date' of sorts this evening! Friends have someone they think might fit the bill, so they're bringing him to the studio under the pretext of seeing my work, then we are all going out for dinner. Awkward! I have no idea what to wear. Thank God the teenager is not here! You know the routine, 'you're not wearing THAT are you', sort of advice.

I hear occasionally from the psychiatrist who enjoys me paying for dinner, but he is wrapped up in finalising his divorce, and I just don't know about whether he's worth continuing with or not. There is a bit of financial clarification required there, I think!

On another front, and feeling brazen, I dropped in to see the old Potential Boyfriend. As usual he was really happy to see me, is going away for a week, but suggested we get together when he gets back. It is soooo frustrating as we still seem to connect, and have so much in common. Maybe he is in a better place now, as he was still recovering from his divorce when we last saw each other. What is with all these men?

So there you go - how are the renovations going? I did laugh at your recent supermarket experience, but I'm afraid I can top it. I was at a very cool bakery the other morning, and standing behind me, waiting to pay, were several extremely hot (fit!) men. I reached into my bag to pull out my wallet and the clippers bit that the 'waxologist' (sort of gardening!) makes you keep with you came flying out of my bag, hit the floor, flew out of it's little bag and landed at the feet of one of the men behind. Possibly the most handsome of all of them. I went scarlet, and can't remember if I even paid I was in such a hurry to get out of there!

I will respond to your tag (thank you!) soon!

X Sunday

Show over

The exhibition went reasonably well given the current state of the economy, I suspect my dealer was slightly surprised as I don't think she was that sure about the work. It wasn't a sell-out as in past years, but it will keep the bailiffs away for a few months at least! The opening was well attended, despite the teenager and I still coughing and wheezing in a very unsociable and unglamorous way - incredibly very bad timing to be sick!

Through being reviewed on another blog, the new work has attracted a lot of interest with interior designers who were previously unaware of my work, and there has been some great flow-on from there, which may well lead to more sales.

So now back to an almost empty studio, and teenager-free home, and some serious knuckling down to the thesis.

A strange quietude

The teenager is alive and well, and loving travelling. Already regretting taking so many clothes - I did wonder how she would go with that as her case only just closed with my careful folding, and having been witness for years to her preference for the 'floordrobe' technique, I did wonder how she'd manage. Her solution? Less than a week into it and she is already posting clothes home.

I was surprised with how gutted I felt to say goodbye, after quietly counting the days until I could come home to a tidy house, less trips to the supermarket, and all those late night pick-up/drop-offs. It is quiet, and she leaves an enormous hole, but she does email and text regularly, and I am happy for her. I have stayed incredibly busy, and suspect it hasn't fully sunk in yet, but I am enjoying the tidier house, and look forward to having a bit more time for myself - and maybe even a bit of a love-life again!

On letting go

A short time ago I watched my daughter's plane take off. She is off on a big adventure, away maybe for up to five months, and I am a mess. I keep thinking about nineteen years ago, to the day she was born, and I cannot believe we are here already.

A longer post when I am more collected.

Xx Sunday

The show's on the road...

A short update as I am so sick this week, not exactly brilliant timing as my show opens in a few days. I have been going to bed early, consuming vast quantities of soup but still I am coughing and croaking, wheezing and sneezing.

The paintings have been collected and are on their way to another city and the studio walls look so bare! Already there has been some interest in the work, and one has been pre-sold already, a good start.

I have shelved the date dilemma for now, but for future reference welcome any opinions on date etiquette re paying for (expensive!) dinners.

Sniffily,

Sunday

Third (and final?) date

Oy vey. I am in my last days of painting before the work is picked up for the show, exhausted from going to openings every night this week (fun!) and The Third Date with the cute, interesting, stable man. On the first date he paid for dinner, and the second he went to, but I offered, and did, and now on our third dinner date, he went to pay but I sensed some hesitancy, so fumbled for my wallet, put out my credit card (I seriously hope my bank manager is not reading this!), and suggested we went halves. I thought he might say no, but he didn't. This is after me answering all his questions about the art world, how it's like being paid once a year, and so usually pretty tough just before a show. So he knows I'm an artist, single mother, without any support from my ex, and he can well afford to pay.

On top of all this I'm just not feeling the 'chemistry' kicking in. I got a quick peck on the cheek before he rushed off to catch the last train. I'm wondering if he's looking for a wife replacement, forgotten how to date, or just plain stingy? And I'm remembering how much fun I had when I was seeing The Younger Man - casual dinners at the local pub, with lots of fun and passion! Yes we’ve had great food and wines, but not a lot else. I want someone who makes me catch my breath when I see them, who makes me wild with desire, someone who I miss, and can’t wait to see again. I’m not sure where to go from here, but I suspect it’s the thanks but it’s just not working for me line.

I had a small melt-down yesterday, ruined one painting, and painted out another, I'm not sure if I'm being too critical, but I really want my dealer to like and believe in the new work. Being in another city they've only seen images so far. I still have enough work, but it would be nice to have enough that I could be more selective about what hangs.

Back to the brushes.

Another date

A short update as it's been a busy week. Only two weeks to my exhibition and I am still finishing a couple of paintings. The carriers know me well, and ask, somewhat nervously, "are they dry?" I've been short-listed for another prize, and got a small bit in the paper. I think the magazine feature comes out soon as well, so it's been great timing! Now I just need a few sales, I think my dealer is a bit unsure of the new work, despite the critical thumbs-up.

The teenager's departure for The Big Trip looms scarily near, and there seems to have been all sorts of mayhem in between.

HOWEVER! I did squeeze in another date, a second date, and I am still interested. Why this is happening to me I cannot fathom; we're talking about an interesting, intelligent and attractive man who has a good job, a nice car and a nice house (I gather) AND a holiday house! I am usually attracted to the mildly bad boys, or the ones that seem not that interested. Still, it's all going slowly but steadily, and he is growing on me. Strangely we are both a bit nervous, but at least can laugh about it. And he wants to take me away once I've got the show out of the way! I am feeling enormously lucky.

Date update

Well I have done it. I have been out on my first date for six months, with a man who appears to like me, and wants to see me again!

Once the teenager recovered from the fact that someone would actually want to take her mother out, she was full of advice. This included a list of things not to mention, such as the cat. I had always assumed the cat was fairly harmless, but apparently not, and the mere mention of him could wreak untold damage on my potentially budding relationship. Who'd have thought it? I was also instructed not to give too much away - what? Then there was the old 'don't put all your eggs in one basket' line. Bless, but there are no other 'eggs' at the moment! And what teenager even knows that line these days???

So, a gorgeous date with a kind, cute, and funny man with an interesting job, and a passion for music. Sounds perfect. He finds me interesting and attractive and wants to go out with me. So why am I feeling unsure? I can't work out whether I've been single for so long that I've forgotten how to date, whether I'm looking for that rush of instant attraction that might later burn out, or whether this might be a better start to something that just might last longer?

I had a lovely time, and have said yes to another date next week, so I guess I'll just keep going and get to know him, and see how it unfolds.

Oh, and as to how we met (re last post), I came up with us meeting at an opening, and on the date he surprised me with an invitation from the exhibition I said we'd met at, with his number on it, as back up! He made a special trip to actually see the show before our date, to help 'authenticate' my story! Sweet!

Dating anxiety

When I first started this blog a few months ago I thought I would be writing more about art and other more esoteric subjects. Ha. Instead I have found a common bonding with other bloggers on the grittier day to day stuff, such as being a single parent, dealing with teenagers, and the seemingly impossible quest to find Mr Right. Who apparently is hiding from us all.

In the last week I had my first date in 6 months, with a man I found through an internet dating website. He’s cute, has an interesting and very respectable job, has children, his own hair and teeth (!) and can play the guitar. So far all good, but I am now in the position of not wanting to tell the teenager about it until I have had a few more dates, and know if we want to pursue this. When there are just two of you living together, there is very little privacy. If someone rings me, I get “who was that?”, and if I get coy she is instantly suspicious. I am trying to remind myself that I am the parent, she is the child, but previous experiences have taught me that any date leads to a barrage of questions, and if there is a whiff of internet attached to it, a smirk of mild derision is included. Hence my coyness.

So now I am left trying to come up with a ‘how I met your mother’ story for my date, whilst feeling stupid about it at the same time.

I don’t want to scare him off with visions of a) some deranged, possessive, bunny-boiler of a teenager, of which she is neither, or b) me being tragically weak and completely ruled by my daughter. My passive solution so far is that in six weeks she will be off travelling for several months, and I will have the time and space to date without this anxiety, and if he is the sort of man I am after he will be patient. Just not sure how to handle it between now and then.

Back to painting – four weeks to show time.

This week's wrap...

...is very brief!

• My lovely daughter returns from a week away with her dad, hurrah!
• I've been short-listed for a biggish art prize....and finished two small works for a group show.
• I'm very honoured to have been asked to gift a work to a major breast-cancer fund-raiser. I think everyone of us knows someone who has been affected by this, directly or indirectly.
  
• I'm planning a weekend of cooking tapas for a friend's birthday party, and trying out salt-cod fritters for the first time.
  
• I am smitten by my new Shiatsu therapist.
  
• I have made a fresh start on my thesis, 982 words - it's a start!
• I have a date next week!
  

Have a great weekend,

x Sunday

Tagged...

My teenager-free week

Day Three, and I must admit it's been lovely. I miss her of course, but it IS nice to have a break.

I started off with a Shiatsu massage for my arms, which have been sore from painting. This was my first foray into 'alternative' therapy, and apart from some nervousness when acupuncture was mentioned, I trusted my lovely (and handsome!) doctor, and let him have his way with me. I had needles stuck in my arms and legs, massage which included him standing on me at one stage, and some suction cups stuck to my back, which have left interesting red circles! I'm feeling better already!

I've put myself back on an Internet dating site for the week, and have already spoken to one interesting man; I've been to galleries to see exhibitions I've been meaning to see; I've been to the market and am now cooking up a storm; I'm planning a tapas birthday dinner for a girlfriend; and most importantly, I am getting some rest. AND I get to come home to a house as tidy as I left it, rather than something that looks like it belongs in Baghdad.

The sweetest thing is that the teenager still sends me texts telling me what she's doing, and calls to say goodnight. Bless.

A holiday!

For the first time ever, the ex-husband has decided to take the teenager on holiday. This morning as I drove them to the airport, I wondered how they would cope with each other. It will be a shock to him, not having been in her company for more than 48 hours since she was 9 years old. She on the other hand will be far from friends and home, and a patient, if trying, mother, and is nervous.

So how will I cope? I have a week to myself, a week to ponder the big questions in life, and the small. A week to do a lot, or to do very little. A week to come home to a house in exactly the same state as I left it in. A week to work late if I feel like it, work on my thesis, bring men home (I live in hope!), talk to the cat without being ridiculed, talk to my friends without eye-rolling, and a week to not be a taxi service! I will miss her, but I suspect the break will do me good. No, actually I KNOW it will. First on the list is to buy a bottle of champagne!

A small victory!

I have been a little distracted lately by the threat of a major intrusion into our quiet little street. I love my neighbourhood, it is a wonderful mix of old migrants who grow vegetables in their front gardens, uber-cool young urban professionals, families with young children, artists, musicians and other like-minded people. There are old houses and new, and a few converted warehouses, like mine.

Until now it has been a peaceful pocket in the inner city. You can imagine my distress to learn that the factory across the road had been let to a dog day care centre. Apart from the obvious 'why would anyone have a dog if it has to go to day-care' question, the thought of a factory full of dogs barking all day everyday forced me into action. After much lobbying and many objections, it went to a special council meeting to be decided last night. All the neighbours turned up, and the application was rejected. It was great to see so many people from so many walks of life unite for a common cause, and I am so proud of them. I love my neighbourhood.

The dreaded forward

I am in danger of becoming a grumpy old woman.

After opening my email this morning, I found two more forwarded links from friends. These friends are very dear to me, but I am aware of a general increasing tendency to communicate by forwarded messages, and I am SO OVER IT! I want to hear their news, how they are, and what they're up to, NOT some rarely funny or inspiring, schmaltzy powerpoint with tacky words that I haven't the time or interest to watch.

Has anyone else noticed this increasing phenomenon, and does it bother anyone else?

Birthdays and boyfriends

Having just had a birthday, it suddenly struck home that I only have 364 days left as a ‘forty-something’ woman. Yes, I am staring down the barrel of The Big One. And I am nervous. There is so much still to do, and somewhere on this list is finding a suitable man.

I had a lovely birthday, a family dinner with the ex-husband and friends, lunch with the ex-boyfriend (still gorgeous, but still gay), and lots of texts and calls from friends near and far. But I still sleep alone, and I am ‘so over it’ as the teenager says.

A plan is needed, a list of things to accomplish before The Big One. I plan to dream big.

On being picky...

Following on from my last post on being single, I have been mulling over being picky. Oh yes, I know I am, and I momentarily questioned that, but have decided that I’d rather be on my own than settle for a bland or unrewarding relationship. A lot of earlier discussion centred on what the ideal man should not wear. I suppose this is my undoing, and for me, the tip of the iceberg. Aesthetics are my thing.

Aesthetics, along with communication, are the fundamental foundation stones of my work, and carry through into my domestic life. From the way I dress, decorate my home, prepare food, and even arrange my paint tubes, I am concerned with aesthetics. I'm not talking about neatness, just a pleasing arrangement, whether it's colours, textures or tastes. Which is probably why I have been given one of the world’s messiest teenagers, bless her.

But back to the man thing. It goes further than Crocs and white socks for me. I would struggle to go out with someone who had vertical blinds by choice, for example. Or someone who had no interest in the rest of the world. Or who didn’t care about what they ate. Or wasn't keen on animals or children. I love to cook, and my partner would need to share that interest, even if only to enjoy eating the results. For me there is nothing sexier than making fresh pasta on a rainy winter’s afternoon, with good music, a nice bottle of wine, and a gorgeous man to do it all with. Ideally at the beach-house we've rented for the weekend. A man with a passion is my mission.

Tomorrow I am off to another city for a big art party, hurrah! Maybe I will find him there, wish me luck!

On being single...

After the gorgeous and witty notSupermum’s post on The Harry High Pants n0-no’s list, I have been thinking about being single, and being picky. I am picky. And I am single. Hmmm…

I really, truly do want to give love another go, and have been looking. I've had a few dates over the last couple of years, but each one has been lacking. Beginning with the now infamous first date Dinner Voucher Incident, quickly followed by the interior designer who laughed too much, (and insisted on wearing his casual shirts tucked in), the author who talked too much, (and was once caught in socks and sandals!), the toy boy who was great fun but lacked the maturity I am after, the lovely and brilliant lawyer whose girth unfortunately matched his IQ, and the opera singer who was gorgeous but just not my type (and I struggled with the over-bleached teeth which were almost a transparent blue-white, scary!). Picky, moi?

There’s lots of good things about being single; I don’t have to shave my legs that often. I can talk to the cat. I can eat what I want when I want, where I want. I get to hang out with my friends whenever I want. I can curl up with a bottle of wine and watch soppy movies by the fire, whilst painting my toenails, and wearing a face-mask. I can sleep in the middle of the bed, wear comfortable knickers, and flirt in the pub.

But, I think I would gladly trade these things to find 'the one'. I used think that there was only ever one of those assigned to each of us, but now I firmly believe there may be more. I do have someone I am working on, but it shouldn't be that hard, should it? As for the rest of the potential boyfriends (an awkward term at this age) out there, just how picky is too picky?

Temporary fame and clutter

Where to start? I have spent the past week trying to get my house in order, and Easter has been a blur. I recently was asked by a magazine if they could do an article on me and my house. All very glamorous, and wonderful publicity as I have an exhibition coming up, but during the past weeks preparations I have been anything but glamorous. I have been dragging boxes of stuff that I have been lugging around for years and putting them under the bed for lack of cupboards, scrubbing floors, polishing furniture, and massively decluttering. Wheezing and sneezing from the dust, antihistamines and alcohol have been my saving. And a lot of hot cross buns! Even the teenager got on board and cleaned her room. This is truly a miracle. I was up until midnight polishing floorboards, but it all finally came together as in desperation I threw the last of my desk clutter in the car. We are short on storage. In the process I discovered things I'd forgotten about, and things I can do without. It has made me think about decluttering on a broader scale, and how much 'baggage' we cart around with us, and how to go about decreasing it.

Still, it all went well, the photographer was happy and the stylist found plenty to play with, and from what I could see they made it look a lot better than it really is! I'm enjoying it while it lasts, it does feel good. I feel like I can never get everything that needs doing done, and housework is pretty low on the list. Sorting and tossing out some of those unpacked boxes is even lower. Painting, studying, parenting, and generally trying to keep it all together is about all I can manage. Oh, and the eternal quest for Mr Darcy!

On the man front, there have none with white socks ;) but the ex-husband did appear and did a couple of little jobs around the house for me. I assume this is his way of apologising for being so rude to me a few weeks ago. The potential boyfriend has lent me a couple of interesting things for the shoot, and still seems very happy to see me when he does. I just wish it could be a bit more often. I have been trying to shift my focus and to be more open to meeting other men, but lose the will to do so when I do see him. I am craving closeness and intimacy.

Back to painting, and more openings tonight.

Men and Madge musings

In a determined if not demented attempt to break this drought of suitable potential boyfriends I have been going out more this week, mostly to gallery openings, thus killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. I have seen so many gorgeous young things out and about, but as for a man over the age of 45 but under 55........ they appear to be either in hiding or in camouflage. Or I am looking in the wrong places. Sadly there is a plethora of much older men (we're talking old enough to be my dad, eew!) putting themselves forward. Fortunately there is always wine available, (following the 'beer goggles' theory), but even this does not make them into a George Clooney look-alike. Is it too much to ask for someone roughly the same age? Is this a common experience?

Then should you miraculously find one, major renovations are required. Buffing and waxing, plucking and trimming, toes and heels, should the date eventuate into something more. The hunt for better underwear, or at least some that still has some shape. The hunt for missing clothing that has been absorbed into the teenager's floordrobe. Then there is the timing. With the teenager on a schedule that has more elastic than my underwear, it is difficult to plan ahead. Teenagers' change plans constantly. I have often been been caught out on this one. You think you have the night free and the wine chilling, and then suddenly they decide that they will stay home, and three friends are sleeping over as well. Suddenly the studio and singledom seem so much more appealing.

Can the press give Madge a break? Yes the divorce was not pretty, nor is her body, but she has continued to keep making popular music, keep reinventing herself, and keep doing the occasional good deed. No other parent adopting a child attracts so much publicity. We should applaud her, not condemn her, for saving one more child from a country suffering crippling poverty, rampant HIV and the risk of rape, teenage pregnancy and death in childbirth.

So that's the week's wrap. Men and art, I've seen the good, the bad and the definitely ugly. But the wine was good. Cheers!

Mindfulness

Is it me or is life just busier than ever? It seems like every day there are more things that need to be done than can really be accomplished. I have read a little about mindfulness and think it a great idea. It's just hard to put into practice. If I were to just think about my toast when having breakfast, then my tea, then focused purely on what I was reading in the paper before checking my emails and feeding the cat, it would be lunchtime before I got anything else done. Ask any mother, we are the champions of multi-tasking. I can have breakfast, skim the paper, make a cup of tea, check my mail, feed the cat and load the dishwasher all in the space of 15 minutes. As well as engage in some form of early morning communication with the teenager. I'm not saying that's ideal, but it means I get to the studio at a reasonable time, and get a lot done.

I love water aerobics. Apart from keeping fit, it is a study in humanity. A bunch of strangers of all ages, shapes and sizes, all leaping about in close proximity to each other in the pool, before reverting to our normal clothed selves, and heading back out into the world. I know no one's name, where they live, or what they do, it's a funny thing but it's like a little community as we greet each other each morning. It's one of the things I love about inner city living, we form many little communities, some of which overlap and others that don't. I have another at the cafe near my studio, with the same group of people having coffee on the way to work. Maybe it's because we are in a city that we need to connect and form these communities.

I still have had no communication with the ex. It's sad, but I think he prefers it this way, it's easier for him to be angry with me than acknowledge the hurt he's caused, and it probably helps cover up any guilt or feelings he may still have for me. And of course the girlfriend is always on hand to fan the fire.

The potential boyfriend remains disappointing and emotionally unavailable, and continues to let me down. His separation is so much more recent than mine, and I know that he is in no shape or place to become involved with someone else right now, it's just disappointing to meet someone who otherwise ticks all the right boxes. I know that I need to move on but a part of me wants to cling to the dream, as it's taken years to find someone like him.

Back to painting, it is the one thing I can do with complete mindfulness. I get lost in what I am doing and thoughts about everything else disappear.

Lipstick sales a sign of the times

I have to say that I am very proud of the teenager. In so many ways. I recently had the opportunity to observe her at work in one of her many guises as she saves for her travels - this one as nanny. At 18 years of age she is responsible for caring for a 2 year old, often for 24 hour stints. She is caring, thoughtful, fun and firm. She can fold up a pram with more ease than I can manage an umbrella, and get around on public transport carrying all the accompanying paraphernalia. She does the museums, and the libraries, parks and playgrounds, as well as coffee with friends. She laughs at the stern looks she receives when judgemental members of the public assume her to be a teenage mum. She mops up spills and tears, and is devoted to her charge. I know she will be a good mother one day. I'm hoping that this experience will remind her that there is plenty of time before she considers it, however!

On the man front there remains very little. More like nothing really. The one man who would be so right in so many ways remains so very not-right. Hopeless at communicating, stressed, busy and still in the turbulent aftermath of a separation, he is not in the tight space to be thinking of a relationship, unless I am deluded and it is more a case of 'he's just not that into me'. He can be so charming when I see him, and then I don't hear from him again for a long time. My male friends assure me that I am a 'good catch', 'hot' even, and that he is nuts to not snatch me up, but it's not like there is a queue of them outside my house. Unless you count the younger men who seem to be attracted to women my age. What's with that?!? Yes it's flattering, but long-term I just want to be with someone the same age who gets it, knows the same songs and remembers the same moments in history.

On the work front all is well. Other than sales which are not so good. I gather lipstick sales go up during a recession, but art sales definitely do not. I received a great review which was reassuring, and as always, things will get better. Soon I hope.

Ex-husbands and bouillabaisse

What is it with ex-husbands? Despite normally maintaining a good relationship, which I always believe to be in the best interest of any children involved, occasionally things go pear-shaped. I have never really taken to his new girlfriend, however as she is his date not mine, it doesn’t really concern me. Yesterday I rang him to discuss a matter about our daughter, and instead was berated about my behavior towards his girlfriend. Yes I am a bit cool towards her, but I am civil. I don’t need to be best friends, and anything more would be fake, if not down-right creepy. Fortunately our paths rarely cross. It is as if the ex needs me to play the role of evil ex-wife in order to feel better about himself, sanction his choice of girlfriend, complain about to his friends, and to justify his actions. My guess is that he resents that I don’t actually need him, and have looked after myself and our daughter with very little emotional or financial assistance from him.

My favourite way to deal with stress (other than a weekend away with a gorgeous man!), is to cook. After the diatribe from the ex, I set about making bouillabaisse. The more involved the better, I find. Digging out an ancient Elizabeth David French cookbook, the rest of the morning was spent making fish stock. In the afternoon I set about making a fantastic rouille, and the actual soup itself. The teenager and I dined like kings, and even the cat was pretty happy. After which we went to see Vicky Cristina Barcelona, which I loved, although the teenager was more critical. Some of the characters were possibly a bit too close to home?

I am reading a great book about the history of colour, titled Colour, Travels Through the Paintbox, by Victoria Finlay. Really interesting stories of the history of pigments that I recommend to anyone interested in art, regardless of whether they are a practitioner or not. I’m also reading Eat, Love, Pray which seems to be a current best-seller, but perfect bedtime reading.

The other side of the bed remains empty, and the one man that interests me remains emotionally unavailable. I have been trying to date others, but it’s difficult (and probably unfair) not to compare them, and inevitably find them lacking. Yes my selection criteria is set on high, but it’s not unrealistic, and I really don’t feel inclined to settle for any less. I know a lot of women my age who feel the same, but I am also scared by the bicycle-riding, hippy-skirted, mung-bean eating, grey-haired women who carry the air of having moved on, and feel better off without a man. Please God do NOT let me become one of them.

Back to the paintbrush.

Urban pirates

Weird of the day: This morning I saw a man in the street with a black eye patch and a cat wearing a red bandana on his shoulder. Urban pirate? He was no Johnny Depp however.

The teenager’s floordrobe has spread all the way down the stairs, across the living room and kitchen floors, and is threatening to spread to the front door and beyond. I am happy that she is working and saving up to travel during her gap year, but she needs to save time for tidying up as well. It is times like these that I long for back-up, a second parent sometimes. Single parents need to be all roles all of the time.

The painting is going well. Two openings to go to tonight.

Thwarted but inspired.

Thwarted by the teenager yet again.

How is it that you can relentlessly be told that you are sad-sack spinster loser when there is rarely opportunity to change the situation? I have looked for love amongst friends and acquaintances, in galleries and bookshops, and at the local markets and cafés. I’ve even looked on-line. I have tried not looking as advised by well-meaning friends (usually comfortably coupled up, naturally), who assure me I will find Mr Right when I’m not looking. Probably when you least expect it they say, like when you’re putting out the garbage. Well I have been putting my own bins out for years, and have yet to meet anyone there. Love amongst the rotting rubbish of my neighbors’ fettered bins? I don’t think so.

I try to be a good role model, if I do meet someone I’d like to get to know better, I try to get to know them a bit before I bring them home, or even publically ‘date’ them. A teenage Spanish Inquisition on every male name I’ve ever mentioned has put me off volunteering too much info too soon. This makes it tricky. It seems teens are unable to make definite plans, and will at short notice require driving to, or picking up from anywhere near or far. Try planning a date around this. Which means that I usually arrive extremely late, disheveled, and drink my drink far too quickly. Probably not that attractive.

But bless the teenager. She will always let me know where she is, how she is, and tell me she loves me. Even in front of her friends. Things could be a lot worse.

Today I saw the most beautiful exhibition by an artist who had her first show at the age of 57. Beautiful work, although a lot of it which was a bit overwhelming, and a pioneer of her time. I am inspired.

Strange days are these.

Sometimes you just know that the day is going to be one of those days. It probably started the moment I heard a chainsaw start up outside my front door. In the midst of my usual multi-tasking morning routine, which consists of skimming the newspaper whilst waiting for the toast to toast, the kettle to boil and the computer to boot up, I heard the ungodly sound of sawing. With no time for formalities, I ran out into the street in my underwear to find two men, earmuffed and goggled, with large chainsaws about to cut down a very small tree outside my home. Pruning, the startled men explained. Bit of over-kill I think. I could have done it with secateurs.

The cat, who was apparently not long for this world three years ago, has become kittenish and races about the street with a new spring in his step. I suspect he is in love. My Mr Right continues to elude me.

The teenager forgot her house keys, as they do. Funny they never forget their phones. Possibly weird of the day was her informing me that she bought a second-hand camera from a one-handed man.

Don’t you love the way they ask what’s for dinner as soon as you set foot in the house? I find it a challenge when there appears to be some form of diet required. No carbs, no pasta, rice or potatoes. No quick whipping up a quick spaghetti with olive oil, chilli and garlic. Ultimately I seem to end up preparing two separate meals. I’m definitely a carb girl.

The studio remains my salvation. It is beautiful, and peaceful. And I actually get some work done.

Rain......

It's raining, the first time for a long time, and I have been trying to do my bit for the environment by riding my bike to the studio. A quick search at the shops for a rain poncho that does not make me look like either a giant lemon or a character from Sesame Street on a bicycle. It's hard being green in a fashion-conscious city.

A lecture yesterday by a visiting German artist has left me feeling a bit limp, where success seems to be measured by the amount of commissions. Yes the work was interesting, but site dependant. What happened to painting in it's own right?

Teenage angst

Why is it that when the teenager wants to know which outfit looks better, the response to the answer is always 'why, are you saying I look fat in the other one'?

Why does it take so long on hold to get through to the tax office?

Why can't I find anything to wear to uni today? This is an easy one, but involves a long search through the teenager's floordrobe. Thank you tax office, I now don't have time.