In our 27 plus years together, my husband has, on occasion, shared the theory that nothing is new.
Every time I hear this, my mind, for no apparent reason, begins trawling through thoughts and memories in search of an example to challenge this premise.
Today’s epiphany, while making coffee, is perhaps he is correct.
Originality comes from what we as individuals do with ideas, concepts, and things. By enhancing, modifying, reinterpreting, customising, and adopting we embody uniqueness.
The above picture is a collection of SylvaC hyacinth vases.
To me, they represent a connection with my maternal grandparent’s home. There was always a white Hyacinth Leaf Jardiniere Vase No 2456, sitting unassumingly on the bay window cill of their front room.
The mass production of such ceramics in the 1940s and 1950s may, at the time, have been original.
The grouping, lighting, location, and photograph is unique to my husband and I.
I had a joyful birthday lunch last year at Patina, Customs House. Unfortunately, my mood beforehand was decidedly maudlin, resulting in the following self reflective poem.
Expectations, unheard, unwritten, not agreed, lead to disappointment. Frustration from despondency could result in an outpouring or inner turmoil. Assumptions can conflict create or do secrets forge, limiting authenticity. Living as a liar may rebellion incite or self-loathing and self-destruction result.
This year, I decided to take control of myself; to celebrate the end and beginning of a new birth year with close my husband and close friends.
We turned up at GOMA (Gallery of Modern Art) to see the European Masters exhibition on loan from the Met, New York on Thursday. The thought of queuing for one hour did not rock my boat so we headed for a great lunch at Julius Pizzeria followed by sundowner drinks at the Terrace Rooftop Bar.
The photograph above shows the view of the city looking northeast from the Terrace towards the city, across the Brisbane River.
On Friday our tastebuds were treated to an exquisite six course degustation lunch including, seven amuse bouches and matching wines. Next we went to Maya Mexican rooftop restaurant and bar for cocktails, gorgeous nibbles, socialising and dancing.
The picture above taken from Maya shows the city on the right and a neon looking outline of the Storey Bridge left of centre.
Today we rest. Plans will form or not, as the day progresses.
The orientation, overshadowing, and patio roof provide a welcome respite from the searing Queensland sun in Summer.
Our compact courtyard is challenging when it comes to choosing plants. Areas receiving photosynthesis fuel in Spring and Summer are ignored during Autumn and Winter.
The raised bed next to the spa is on its fourth bout of planting. Fingers crossed the golden cane palms will flourish with agaves and mother-in-law’s tongues.
We have run out of ground space, resulting in the need for creative alternatives. The distance between the six feet high fence and the neighbour’s house is just wide enough to accommodate the depth of a self-watering trough.
So far these pretties are enjoying a daily slot of sunshine.
I live in a country with an overhead continent sized hole in the ozone layer and one of the highest incidents of skin cancer in the World. Moving to the Sunshine State of Queensland three years ago has increased the chance of skin damage.
As I inherited moles from my parents, it is recommended, I should get my skin checked annually. Thankfully at a recent going over, I was given the all clear.
An early DNA test revealed my paternal heritage hails from Northern Europe while my maternal Romani ancestors migrated from the northern Mediterranean region to the UK.
Up until around age 12, growing up in England, meant happily playing in the sun sans sunscreen. Turning red was an accepted step to a ‘healthy’ colour. It appears my Caucasian flesh pigmentation is influenced more from the northern rather than the southern realms.
During the heatwave of 1976, while caravanning in Barmouth, Wales, I learned a painful lesson. Running around topless resulted in the most excruciatingly painful sunburn imaginable. It was too sore to even have fabric next to my skin. I slept on my front, lathered in calamine lotion.
Once home, I enjoyed an unhealthy fascination with peeling great sheets of dead skin from my body.
Freckles across my upper back and shoulders are a constant reminder of that day.
With age, I have found liberally applied factor 50+ protection allows my porcelain hued complexion to gradually morph to a honey glow.
The bizarre thing is, from early on, I sought to seek out darkness rather than the light. Maybe it was rebellion against a Christian upbringing. I hungrily devoured texts laden with the macarbre, vampires, devils, witches, fortune telling, the Tarot, dreams, ghosts, and Victorian gothic romanticism. If I had been more worldly wise and less concerned with what I assumed people thought of me, I would have embraced the goth culture of the 1980s. This may even have led to finding ways to link with the eastern Germanic tribes of the same name.
A career path into hospitality reaffirmed the need to hide my identity and fit into the expected ‘norm’. Perhaps, pursuing art studies should have provided a safe space for discovering my inner self and self-expression.
In some ways my stifled authenticity has stunted my development. Labelling myself a neo pagan in my forties, I indulged my interest in the occult. I read as much as I could, learned to invoke natural energies to enhance spell work and tried to understand the hidden meaning of symbolism. The launch of this blog coincided with the conclusion of my mystical journeying.
It is now, in my late fifties, I feel comfortable and safe enough to explore my inner goth. A Brisbane Pride March and Fair Day, scheduled for yesterday has been postponed due the risk of COVID community transmission. I was gearing up to launch my goth in facial expression at these events. This would have come as a surprise to my companions.
The photograph above captures a shaky handed and hasty first attempt at the makeup. I didn’t wait long enough for the primer and foundation to dry and managed to poke myself in the eye with the mascara brush.
I haven’t worked out what to do with my beard. Maybe purple-black glitter; glam goth.
theINFP 