New year, old worries

New year, old worries

I realised that even with my fairly (perhaps too?) extensive documentation of my time in India I managed to omit both Jaipur and everything-after-I-got-sick (being three days in a luxury Delhi hotel marvelling at the workmanship of the toilet bowl. Money well spent). It’s a slight shame, as Jaipur was a truly lovely city and definitely one of my top three from the trip - but I’m afraid I can’t provide too much more detail as my stomach still does an involuntary clench at the mere thought of ‘India’.

2017 may end up being a curry-free year.

And it is now firmly 2017, that hazy week or so between Christmas and New Year (which stretches its languid arms to claim also the first week of the new year) having truly dissipated. As has the week after, and the…. No. People with real jobs are now back at them and I am back worrying about not having one (real job).

It’s not something that often bothers me, distracted as I am by being covered in clay, but right now it is a pinnacle worry as I search for a new apartment in this great city (said with far less irony than last year; is Canberra rubbing off on me? Perish the thought).

It’s a curiously depressing thing, viewing houses you don’t especially want to live in (why does no-one think it objectionable when the ceilings are 8ft high and decorated by those ‘boob’ light fittings popular in the early 90s?) but for which you also know you’ll never be chosen over the sea of newly-minted public service graduates that have washed into Canberra this last week, filling each nook and cranny with a particular brand of idealised fervour and optimism.

As well, there’s the frustration of summer holidays. I know, I know, everyone reading this while at their real job just wanted to hit me over the head with their keyboard. But see, while the uni’s locked doors were a glorious reprieve during law school (‘oh you mean I can’t access the library? Shame’) they’re an active impediment at art school where, as a ceramics student, I rely on the school’s infrastructure to be able to make.  

I have neither a wheel nor space to put one (or anything else much) at home. (This lesson I learnt the hard way, realising only partway through the process of reclaiming porcelain that I had no drying slab, which is why I now have several buckets of still-quite-liquid clay scattered around the laundry. My flatmates, needless to say, are thrilled.) So summer holidays have become an imposed hiatus, which I resent more strongly than I could have foretold.

I’ve tried to divert myself into other fields, making more skulls, drawing more; actually painting the commission I’ve had for over a year (it’s ok, it’s for a friend, I’m a bad friend but not a bad professional) but it is, quite simply, not the same. Strange, really, that you can be so new to something and realise only on its absence that it has lodged a foothold in your soul.

So I stagnate, counting the days till term commences, when I can once more play with clay (and complain about the dust forever on my clothes).

That’s not to suggest the summer has been without redeeming features – I drove to Melbourne over New Years with my mum and sister to visit my (not her) dad and meet the new puppy Bruce (a dumpling of a furrowed-brow dog with alarmingly large paws and jowls to match) which was surprisingly wonderful. (Considering the complexity of modern family dynamics, this is never a certainty).

If someone had told me five years ago that I’d want to spend New Years Eve with either my mum or my dad or more especially both together I would have laughed and told you that was both undesirable and impossible, my parents not having been in the same room together much past my 5th birthday. With the passing of time and the softening it brings however, my parents now seem to be friends; a fact that makes my heart all kinds of embarrassing-happy full.

I’ve also set up a society6 account and am busy uploading photos my sister kindly took of my dad’s art, with the dual purpose of income for him and a new iPhone case for myself.

Altruism at its finest. This is the link for those curious. 

I’m also, with no hint of altruism, looking into possible retailers (non-gallerist-art-sellers?) for some of my skulls. So cross your fingers and stay tuned for this particular mosquito pool to bloom!

Suddenly I feel inspired! Funny that.


Making Modernism: of fallacy and fable

Making Modernism: of fallacy and fable

Smog and stone

Smog and stone