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!