Slow day.

After what I said in my last post, about having perfect nails all the time, they are a tad scrappy now. I don't trust this nail polish anymore. It's flakey. I have never seen a red sycamore seed before. If I have, then I cannot remember it. I saw loads of them scattered along the pathement on the way home. It looked quite startling. The vibrant red against the faded gray. Almost like blood drops on the floor.
When I got home I had a nice surprise. In the post came a parcel from Chloë. Inside was my birthday present and I shouldn't really have opened it, but it was unwrapped so I had to really. The lovely brown package cantained a nice card, addressed to 'Ginge', A chocolate bar, a little flowery tin, and inside the tin was a badge with the word 'Winner' stamped onto it. It's my birthday badge, and I have to wear it on saturday night.

Today was slow. This evening is even slower. This weekend is taking longer and longer to get here.

Passing time.

As all I seem to be doing lately is waiting around for something to happen, I have taken up the habit of doing my nails, almost every day. If it goes wrong then I actually have the time to just do it all over again, until perfect.

Other activities of Tash these days include:

• Playing Sims.
• Reading all my Tess Gerritsen books.
• Drinking coffee.
• Drinking Tea.
• All day naps.

Also, slightly out of boredom, I have taken to trying to make my room look a bit like it did in Falmouth. The same pictures and basically the same lay-out. It has worked, and I like it more here in my white room, instead of dirty cream.

I will be painting the kitchen this coming week. It's really quite a nice colour that my mum has chosen. It's not one that i would have expected either. 'Soft Stone'. I will get some pictures up of it when the kitchen is all done. And then finally I will be able to bake sweet things again. I'm not a fan of this living on salad.

I like my room. (Most days)

Blank.

As from the lack of posts, you should assume, and rightly so, that not much has been happening in the world of Tash. When i say that not much has been happening, what I really mean is, I havn't been taking many photos of nice things. This is a slight lie.. I went to Wales for my cousin's 18th birthday and took lots of photographs of family and cakes. I fear my eyes have had it with cupcakes for the time being. Just to decorate 150 of them is quite enough thankyou. I no longer hold pictures of cupcakes with great esteem.

Other things: I am now employed. Sales assistant for an independent mens clothing company, currently based in London, but with a new store opening in Bath next month. That's where I will be working. A nice little shop in Little SouthGate. I'm going to have to travel to London for training. Not going to lie.. I'm not the biggest fan of London. I am a country girl through and through, and big cities just scare me. Though, saying that, I'm not all too scared of the underground.
I have a man in my life again. He's lovely and I am very lucky. I miss him in the week when he is working. I worry about how he is, then appreciate it when he lets me know how he's feeling and what he's thinking. It's refreshing. I also miss the shed. It sounds silly, but I have been basically confined to my room for the last few weeks, and it was nice to just go out to the shed, with music and do some work. I wish I could go out there most days and paint. Unfortunately, my parents are having the kitchen redone and the shed has become their temporary dumping ground, but never mind. To keep myself occupied, I have been reading. I have been sleeping. I have been cleaning and tidying. I have seen both Steve and Mary this week, which was nice. Evening drinks with Steve on Monday, and Lunchtime wanderings with Mary today, with nice food at the Garden Cafe and shelter from the rain from a small pear tree. I like lunching. It makes me feel like a grown-up.

One last thing: As a birthday present to myself, I have booked myself in at Punctured Skin to get the lily that I designed about 4 years ago tattooed. On my left side, the size of my hand, on my ribs. Three hours of slight pain. I may take a book. I won't be able to wear a bra until it starts to heal properly, hang 'em loose like a hippy I guess.
I am excited for things to come. For the moment however, I am severely bored, and with no money to speak of, it makes it quite difficult to make plans with friends or with myself.

The sign of boredom, is when the photographs stop.

Or just blame the rain.

An Old Film.

I was sorting through all my film pictures a few days ago, and i found these prints that I had forgotten. These are just a few. They are going to go on my wall.

Black and White ones were hidden in there too...

I didn't realise that I had begun taking pictures with my OM-2 while Steve and Ollie where still skating. It only feels like a recent hobby, but in actual fact I have been doing it for almost 10 years now.

You'd think I'd know more about photography..

Boredom.

These are some pages from my books. At times of Boredom I turn to my book for some sort of activity to do. It usually ends up me drawing or writing silly things. Above is my hair. Below is my face. I did my face last night. I was trying to draw it in the dark. It was hard. I look angry, and i think its a bit perfected to what i might want to look like more than having accurate features... But the likeness is there i think.

June: developed.

This was the day that me and Chloë baked.

We took far too many pictures of the pink lemonade.

But we made some lovely goods.

Phil and Luna came for the Garden Party.

Then all too soon, it was time to leave falmouth.

Home.

No more making.

So this is the result of the month spent in the shed. The shed of love. The shed of frustration. The shed of pain. The blood-shed. The shed of happiness. The shed of relief. I love my shed. I am sad to leave it.

Managing to incorporate my hair into my designs has been fun. The drawings were effective too, but this feels more personal and i'm pleased with how they look. Somehow the hair is more free than the drawings. There is more trapped movement. More illustrative maybe.

I have a total of three final rings. I intended to make four, but the fourth design has been proving difficult and time consuming all the way through the process. I maybe should have dropped it earlier.

I am pleased with the results of these rings. My only worry is that I am once again repeating the end of term, thinking I have done enough, working hard for a short amount of time when i should have been doing it the whole time. I think I have been working well. My right arm is proof. The ache in my back is proof. I am just really scared that my hardest still isn't enough. It wouldn't be surprising to me if this was the case.

Anyway. Onwards, to a life outside of the shed.

Butterfly Kisses.

There once was a beautiful butterfly. She had wings of stunning blue, with thin stripes of green. Newly emerged from their long slumber, her and her friends set off to explore the world of colour, which surrounded them. They travelled together to see the flowers and to feel the breeze lift their wings. Everywhere they went, it was the blue butterfly that would catch the eyes of children while they were playing in the lush green of their gardens. She played in and around the outstretched hands of children trying to catch her. She tickled their fingers with the very tips of her wings. She would land on their noses admiring her own reflection in their bland brown eyes. She brought beauty to these children, she thought.

One day while she was fluttering around a particularly rich and colourful garden, she noticed a little boy of about 10 picking the heads off of some Pansies in the flowerbed. Blind and deaf with her pride, she didn’t hear the warning cries of the flowers telling her to fly away, and did glide straight to the boy to show off her colour. The little boy had eyes of bright blue. A blue so intense that it could make the ocean jealous. The butterfly landed on his nose to inspect these deep eyes of his. She wanted to make sure that they were no competition for the blue of her wings.

Just as she came to the conclusion that his eyes, even though beautiful, were no match for her wings, the boy cupped her in both of his hands, pulling her away from his nose. She was trapped in a fleshy cage of fingers and palms. She tried to flap her wings but the little boy was holding her too tight. She could not move without fear of snapping her delicate wings. Slowly the boy opened his fingers, un-cupping his hands. She could breathe. She could move. She could see. The butterfly was about to fly away when she saw that the blue-eyed boy was looking at her. Her wings were glowing in the reflection of his eyes. Both of their blues combined would have the power to put both the sky and the sea to shame. The butterfly was stunned, kept still by his gaze. He was looking at her, distant with thought but with an intense concentration. It was like the whole world had stopped. Suddenly, as if he had made a decision about something his gaze focused and his pupils sharpened. One of the hands in which he was holding the butterfly started to move. The flowers below started to shout up to her, warning her to get away. She was not worried. She did not have time for ugly flowers, jealous of her attention from the boy. She stayed put and saw love in the blue of his eyes.

His hand came down from the sky. His finger and thumb on either side of one of her wings. A caress?

Snap!

Her wing was pulled clean off. “What is happening?” thought the butterfly. “I thought you loved me?” she cried up to the boy. “Do you not think I’m beautiful?”

The pain was unbearable. She could not fly away.

Snap! The boy pulled off her other wing.

She was stood in the palm of his hand, crying. Her beautiful wings were lead in his other hand. She could see them glistening in the afternoon sun.

“Thank you very much,” the boy whispered to the butterfly. “Your wings are perfect”.

The little boy set the butterfly down in the flowerbed. Flowers who had also had their beauty ripped from them by this cruel boy surrounded her. They had bruises, ripped petals and some of them had their heads pulled clean off. Just like her wings.

The butterfly with no wings lay down next to the head of one of the Pansies. The flower opened its petals and said, “Without your wings, you are nothing but a common caterpillar, ugly and bland, no-one will want to look at you now.”

“So I will no longer be loved?” Asked the butterfly.

“No,” said the Pansy. She was quiet for a while, and then continued. “When all you have is a pretty face, pretty wings, pretty petals or pretty eyes, then that is all anyone will ever see.”

“So I am nothing.” The butterfly stated. And she died there, without wings, next to the head of a once beautiful pansy. A common caterpillar.

~

The blue-eyed boy had collected a small box of pretty things for her. Inside it, there was heads of flowers from the garden, shiny rocks and creamy shells from the beach, along with leaves with discoloured ends picked up from the path on the way home. Best of all, he had found a beautiful butterfly who had lent him her wings. They were the most beautiful wings that he had ever seen. He swore to himself that they must have been magical, for he had fallen in love with the butterfly, just as he had the little girl from the next garden. The little girl had red hair and brown eyes. She had a love for the colour blue. She always stared at the little boys eyes, lost in them.

The little boy went around the gated wall to find the little girl in her garden. She looked over when he came in, and a smile appeared on her face. She was always happy to see him.

“I have something for you,” the little boy told her, “but you have to close your eyes.”

So she did. He moved up close to her, his face so close to hers that he could count her freckles.

“I met someone beautiful today,” he said quietly, “She was blue and very light, and she kissed me so lightly that I thought my heart could lift in a breeze.”

The little girl stood listening, with her heart breaking. She had always thought herself plain, who could this beautiful person be? This boy could never love me against such beauty, she thought.

“She let me have her wings to give to you. She kissed me with them. It felt like this…”

He moved so close to the little girl’s face that she could feel the tiny hairs on his cheek against hers. She felt a soft tickle on her cheek, so soft that if she’d not been concentrating she would have missed it. The girl recognised this feeling. She remembered when a large while butterfly had landed on her nose and fluttered against her cheek. The butterfly was as pale and plain as she was.

The little girl opened her eyes. The little boy was brushing his long eyelashes ever so softly against her cheek, over and over again.

She smiled and he smiled, they both knew the feeling of a butterfly’s kiss.

The little boy gave the little girl the wings of the blue butterfly so that she would always have a small kiss from him should she wish it, and so that she would always have something to make her feel beautiful. To his bright blue eyes, she was more beautiful than any butterfly that he had ever seen.

My Writer.

Molly the Moth.

Chains.
Reads.

3 days and 2 rings to go.

3 days until I drive down to Falmouth to drop off my referred work. I'm nervous. I'm not sure if I have passed. I hope so, but if i haven't then it is just more evidence that I really am not cut out for education of any kind.

The rings seen here are just the prototypes. I have had some minor mishaps, but have been able to salvage the disaster rings.

I will update this soon with images of the final rings. I am really liking them at the moment. I have two finished pieces so far. Two to go. Maybe.

Proto.

This is the first successful maquette/prototype for my referred project. I'm looking at the distortion of light through the acrylic. To keep it inline with the previous rings where i used camera parts, i'm going to incorporate small lenses in the layers. I need to do some testers for this, but we'll see. I'm excited and motivated now. Hopefully there will be exciting results. With not long left however, i need to keep the pace of work up.

The first of August is when I will be free, (And very, very drunk).

Mum's make the best cakes.

Shed Life.

I have been having some set-backs because of the rings I make falling apart. It is severally disheartening. I can feel the stress building, and with that the feeling of failure and the wonder as to why I don't just give up. Is a degree really that crucial? I am a born quitter, but i'm not going to quit. It's bad that the only real reason for this, is that I have nothing else to do. If i had a promising job then yes, maybe I would just give up.

A mess for Mr. Writer.