If you feel your imagination needs a mega shot of inspiration then explore the fey, mystical artworks of Remedios Varo, one of my favourite painters when I was at art school.
Her miniature works are tiny fantastical worlds in themselves. When I'm feeling as if life has become rather grey and beige, I love to make a cup of tea and lose myself in her beautiful, intelligent and surreal creations. I highly recommend her biography Unexpected Journeys by Janet A Kaplan – Varo’s life equals her art.
And so for Magnificent, Marvellous, Mighty Mondays, let us explore the unlimited boundaries of creation and pay homage to the fascinating Remedios Varo!
image source:
There is a very large huntsman on the wall at my daughter's preschool. In my day at school the spider would have been killed without a moment's hesitation. These days schools are more humane and the children are taught to appreciate the spider and the work it does to keep our eco- system balanced.
One by one, excited preschoolers are led to examine the enormous spider whilst some of the mothers cower in fear and swap huntsman horror stories.
I've been sitting this week with the mothers from the preschool, like a group of spiders spinning our webs. In this case we're knitting jumpers for babies in the colder mountain regions of Bali, attempting to give back to the community in this small way. I even (shock, horror) gave up writing time for this exercise. We wanted to show our children giving in action.
The children are fascinated by our knitting. The boys in particular all attempt to use the needles. Children were once taught to knit in schools as a matter of course.
Schools have changed so much since I was a child! I've been touring them recently looking for the school to place my daughter in next year. I have a dilemma between choosing a fabulous traditional school and a truly fabulous creative school. Both have impressive reputations in their different areas.
I spent a pleasant hour yesterday with the creative school's headmaster. His guitar was on the desk in his office. He was filled with enthusiasm for his job. His handsome young face glowed as he described the achievements the children had attained. When we toured the classrooms, the students all ran to him eagerly to show him their artwork, "Excellent! Rock on!" he said to his adoring students.
I felt like enrolling myself over my daughter by the time I had finished our interview.
Have a fabbo weekend.
image source: flickr
Never trust the stepmother who suggests a gentle stroll through the woods. The lover who tells you that of course you haven't put on weight. The Botox inspired cosmetic company who states their product will make you young. Tin men who claim they don't have hearts and lions who growl that they have no courage.
Never trust yourself when eating Green and Blacks milk chocolate. Look with suspicious eyes upon all politicians and banks. Always carry breadcrumbs upon your person to find the path home again.
And most of all: never trust real-estate agents. "Our" Big Brick house went for over 1.25 million...
And to add insult to injury they phoned us to gloat over the price. "Your estimate was so near!" the agent marvelled, omitting the part where they pretended it would sell in the high 800s. And the final salt rubbed in the wound: “Of course, it needs a lot of renovation,” the agent said.
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A shy child, L. Frank Baum grew into an adult who attempted many different jobs with varying degrees of success: chicken breeder, acting, salesman, managing theatres, newspaper work, playwright. He even began a magazine on window dressing.
He was a caring, nurturing father of his own children and would spend hours a day comforting and soothing them.
Frank wrote and published his first book when he was 41. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz became one of the best-selling books for children in the 20th century.
For nearly two decades this prolific author wrote and published over 60 books and many short stories and poems. He would never write a book again with the mythical magic and sales power of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Rather than this daunting him Frank continued to write, refusing to rest on the laurels of his first book.
Librarians decreed The Wonderful Wizard of Oz a dull read and flat in style. It was kept off library shelves until 1960.
In 1911 Frank declared bankruptcy. Despite his financial woes, he remained his chirpy, determined self and continued to attempt new things.
His health began to deteriorate in 1917. He suffered from gall bladder problems and spent a lot of time bedridden where he continued to write and remained optimistic until the day he died. Just before he died, he said: "Now we can cross the Shifting Sands."
L. Frank Baum is an inspiration for the way he continued to strive for his dreams despite hardships, heartbreak and disappointments. To me he epitomises that wonderful American 'can do' spirit I've always admired.
For all of us who have thrilled to the ever eternal magic of The Wizard of Oz, for those of us who still feel a thrill when we see a pair of ruby slippers or hear the words, "There's no place like home!" – let us pay homage to the Wizard of words and magical tales, L Frank Baum, on this Magnificent, Marvellous, Mighty Monday. "When I was young I longed to write a great novel that should win me fame. Now that I am getting old my first book is written to amuse children. For, aside from my evident inability to do anything 'great,' I have learned to regard fame as a will-o-the-wisp which when caught, is not worth the possession; but to please a child is a sweet and lovely thing that warms one's heart and brings its own reward."
L. Frank Baum image of Frank: image of book:
Vinegar oil splashed onto our skin to make ourselves burn and hopefully end up as brown as the Dolly magazine models.
Lying at the local country pool soaking up the sun all day with my sister and cousin.
Hot chips with sauce, chiko rolls and bags of mixed lollies from the local corner shop.
Back to the pool to splash on the coconut and vinegar oil and get some serious sunburning achieved.
When we had baked ourselves as much as we could bear, we’d leap into the pool for instant cooling in the icy water. The sunburn began to smart when the sun went down and later provided us with the glorious game of peeling the long strips of skin from each others bodies.
Picnics in the local graveyards and bush walking adventures with friends. And on the rare days that I stayed home I’d sit in the yard typing away on our antique typewriter, acting out my dream that I was a famous author. Even then tales world demand to be told.
Lovely, innocent summer days which seemed to stretch and bend forever. We had very few material possessions (I can still remember my wild excitement when my father brought home a surprise gift of Abba's Arrival album). No computers, no cinema and I barely remember watching television. Holidays were not the over-scheduled events they have become with today's children.
We lived in our swimsuits and life seemed forever summer and filled with promise and the smell of coconut tanning spray. I was young, the world was young and seemed so much bigger pre-internet. And the summer days were filled with heat and golden dreams and longings.
With thanks to Pip from Meet Me at Mikes! for inspiring this exercise.
Both images via flickr
Following on from my previous post about life in Little Brick Cottage, it must be said that on the weekend I fell in love with little Brick's big sister – Big Brick! I had resisted looking at her for a few weeks, despite the Scribe's urging, as I knew she would be out of our price range.
However, on a sunny Saturday I had some shopping to do and so I went to inspect the house the Scribe was so enthusiastic about. I've often developed crushes on houses (my current book is based around a certain real house in Tasmania) but never have I experienced falling desperately in love with a pile of bricks and mortar from the moment I walked in the door.
It felt as if the house breathed me into her very bricks, as if she was as excited to see me as I was to view her. She was truly magnificent. The Scribe had already described in loving detail all her glories and so I was prepared -but not quite ready for how perfect she really was.
She wasn't grand, there was still work to do on the old lady; she had a shabby side. She was a three-bedroom, very pretty Victorian house. She had my favourite feature (exposed brick) and a perfect wooden staircase.
The staircase made my heart sing. It was like a staircase from a children's book leading to a magical land above. And indeed the rooms above were magical for space and storage! I'm sure Narnia would fit in the lovely massive built-in wardrobe. I'm sure our Little Brick Cottage would fit in that wardrobe! Add a truly perfect series of stained glass windows and the brick kitchen even had the original servant's bells.
I wandered through her as if in a dream. I could hear the laughter and whispers of the many children who had lived and played within her walls. This was a house of friendly ghosts.
The Scribe had been so smitten when he had viewed her that he hadn't wanted to leave. He had heard many viewers complaining about 'our house' – even having the audacity to mention open-planning and modernizing her!
When I could finally tear myself away I was almost in tears. For a short time I could see my family living, loving and restoring Big Brick to what she deserved.
The real-estate agent asked me if I liked the house and, all reason long departed, I enthusiastically said I did. How much do you think she will go for?" was his next sneaky question. Still shaking like a lunatic in love, I whispered the sorrowful truth. "Over a million." He looked shocked at the honest reply. I could see he was frantically trying to work out whether this was some new mind game I was playing with him.
"Nah," he said. "I'd say mid-800s to early 900s".Previously they had told the Scribe the auction would start at the early 900s.
"We'll see," I said, resisting the temptation to push him out the door and barricade myself within. I retired to the nearby churchyard to listen to a magpie sing a doleful song about foolish girls who look at houses priced above their budget and fall in love with Big Bricks.
Fingers crossed the new moon brings some good fortune our way! As I told the Scribe – if we miss this one, there'll be something even better ahead for us! We'll attend the auction on Saturday and pray it will be passed in until we are in a position to buy her!
Have you ever had an experience like that, where you feel irrationally in love with something that wasn't a human being? A pile of bricks? Shoes? Some other item? Post and tell me if you did and share your wild irrational longing with me!
The very eloquent and fascinating Belette from la Belette Rouge recently invited me to guest post (my first time!) on her Blog on the topic of What Home Means To Me. This was quite an intimidating challenge as so many others had written such strong pieces (not to mention I'm in the middle of several deadlines). August is a killer month for me! It's also a very difficult topic to define as it really does continue to elude me, this whole concept of 'HOME’. However, this is my piece, together with a few photos of my cottage.
