I laughed out loud when I came across this picture on FB. I have included a rough pronounciation in Black Country English.
Recently, we unpacked the soft toys. A dusty, sun-bleached, Pooh, of late 80s vintage emerged.
This year’s Yule tree again includes a bauble depicting a snapshot of Pooh walking their path. I feel a connection with Pooh. They are one of my alter egos.
However, my soulmate in the journey poem below is a Tiger rather than a Tigger or a Piglet.
A shared legato Almost deafening Mezzo-staccato of “see-hearing” Zooming by Fermata Reflecting on The path here
Out of step Out of time Even in minority Faction of a fraction of inversion Lightness of spirit greyed by inner dark Misguided Misunderstood Yearning to fit in To be part Of something
Journey’s search Whilst learning life Decades taught Idealist dreams to be Reality soured Came to nought
There is I and those closest to Wakeup to then and now You gentle old Airhead fool For thirty-two years counterpoint In duet steadied the line A little out of step a little out of time A shared legato
World’s a blur of noise In home’s sotto voce Dark thins to quiet glimmer In warmth of being known In coda we crescendo
Thursday 21 August was the anniversary of the birth of Aubrey Beardsley in 1873.
Inspired by Aubrey’s sketches and the work of Margaret MacDonald Mackintosh (1864-1933), I doodled the above concept of outfit for my alter ego, Airhead to wear to a Winter opera.
Airhead would require a box to themselves, to accommodate the voluminous outfit. Bejewelled in green, swathed in a pink chiffon candy stripe gown, and overlaid by a purple candy stripe velvet cloak.
I am consciously stating the obvious when I write, spending quality time with family is limited when you live on opposite sides of the planet.
When we moved to Australia in 1998, my niece was a child. We are getting to know her and partner as adults whilst they take working holiday breaks from Spain here. Initially in 2018/2019 and again this year. We just spent a joy filled time swapping stories and creating happy memories with them over Christmas.
Whilst reviewing my sketchbook, my niece and partner were drawn to a rendering of a Pink Airhead from March 2024. They remarked on the way the character had developed over time.
Today’s whimsical Airhead represents both outward airy lightness through the pink rocks/stones and inner darkness contained in the black outlines.
‘Pink rock’ is a play on words reflecting a lack of self confidence to display goth/punk/emo individuality. I believed, to be accepted, I had to hide my true self and conform to societal norms. I wonder where this belief began.
As a shy young teen distracted by fantasy, horror, sci-fi, and daydreaming, I expressed myself through coloured handwriting. Setting aside traditional black and dark blue, I favoured apple green and turquoise inks in my fountain pens. Both of them intermittently leaked over my fingers and exercise books. Also, I had a hot pink felt tip pen reserved for doodling, sketching, and creating organic shapes filled with circles/bubbles.
Going further back, in the first class of primary school 1968-1969, taught by Mrs J. Booth, I have three distinct memories: winning a prize for hand painting/printing; enjoying singing along to “The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy)” accompanied by guitar; and exposing myself in the communal handwashing area of the unisex toilets.
I have no recollection of the reason why, having removed all of my garments, I minced out, hands in the air from the cubicle like a bawdy butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Nor do I remember any repercussion of my action.
Up until that point, I believe I was as carefree as any other five year old. I dressed my teddies, floated around like a bird, and coloured in.
Above is my report from the end of the first class of primary school. 3 (satisfactory) for conduct stands out from the 4 (good) grades. I suspect this was due to memory number three above.
As the seasons shift and leaves fall, the Earth recycles energy, converting it into new life and carrying it forward. Embrace the positivity you need to progress in life. Happy Samhain.
This was my first foray into fountain pen ink sketching and an ink wash. The Parker Qink dried extremely quickly. I diluted it, painting onto dry paper.
The ink is from a time of my youth in the 1980s, the Parker Sonnet pen, a gift from work colleagues when we left the UK to emigrate to Australia in 1998.
My naïveté continues to be a theme. I had not considered the inked lines would run when with watercolour was added. I worked with it.
Aging and some of the medication I take have a side effect of shaky hands. I used one of my pencil sketches of a dinosaur. I cut the sketch out, pencil shaded the outline and inked in the outline.
The painting developed as it was created.
Salt was added to the night sky, the background of the ovoid contained figures, and the centre of the seven orange shapes. They represent one thousand miles markers across the Pacific Ocean and the equator from South East Queensland to California.
It is night time where I am, represented by pink Airhead. I engage with my blogging buddy Ra as Rawr the dinosaur through thoughts, dreams, and engaging with each other’s work.
The painting can be viewed with night at the bottom or the top.
In my late teens and early twenties, I experienced hospitality working as a casual, selling fish and chips at Neptune’s Pantry, as a banqueting waiter at the Raven, hall porter at the Chateau Impney, and barman/porter/night manager at the Windermere Hydro hotels.
After completing college in 1984, I was disillusioned by the prospect of working long hours in a hotel for the rest of my life. Back at home in Droitwich, I looked at other options. A newspaper advertisement for a full time position in retail caught my eye. Mom drove me the six miles to Worcester for the interview. It was supposed to take 20 to 30 minutes.
The manager, Michael Dray had me describe the selling features of a fawn Italian leather high heel shoe with a gold piped darker tone lizard skin inverted chevron at the top of the counter (behind the heel). At the time, this shoe was the most expensive in the shop, around £250 in 1984, equivalent to £1000 today.
After spending about two hours with Mr Dray and returning to the car, Mom was both happy I got the job and unhappy for having to wait for me without knowing what was taking so long.
These mixed emotions transferred to me as happiness and anxiety, throughout my employment at R&B. My work colleagues were a wonderful mix, ranging from elder and younger sister types to the outrageous. Other than the manager, I was the only male employee.
Our employment rewarded us with an hourly rate plus a percentage of sales commission. I had not considered the pressure weekly sales targets would have on me. It was calculated using the performance of the store for the same week in the previous year plus a mark up and divided between the number of employees working.
Other incentives included, ends of lines having a ‘spiff’ sticker attached to the box. The colour translated to a one-off £ value paid in addition to commission.
Every person entering the emporium was a prospect who should not be allowed to leave until a purchase had been made. If they were interested in slippers, it was expected, we introduce a matching handbag, polish, shoe trees, signing up for a store card, boots, shoes; you get the picture.
Whilst I had experienced the need to perform at school and college through achieving the requisite grades to graduate, sales was and still is an anathema to me. Anything more than charming, chatting, and cheering on when I disagree with what I am doing leads to poor performance. A completed store card application that passed credit checking earned £1 for the sales assistant and potentially a life of debt for the shopper. In the six months or so I spent at R&B, I did not once achieve my sales target.
Today, I am surprised by my naivety of not thinking things through before jumping headlong into them. In hindsight, I learn through failure by picking myself up and trying something new.
Back to the happy times at R&B, through the ladies collection, my eyes were opened to a world of coloured leathers including, navy, white, cerise, Capri, taupe, chocolate, salmon, raspberry, lemon, lime, emerald, ruby, claret, sapphire, opal, silver, gold, bronze. The men’s mainstay of black and brown occasionally branched out into silver or mid grey, tan and, blue.
I used every opportunity to try on ladies and men’s shoes that took my fancy. I fell into the role of clown, parading around the stock rooms, much to the delight of my coworkers.
We purchased our own uniforms. Males wore a suit with shirt and tie. My female counterparts an outfit selected by the floor supervisor, a tall slim, Miss Dixon. It changed twice per year and did not suit all body shapes.
A condition of our service was the wearing of a pair of ‘shop shoes’ from the company’s range for six months. They were not allowed to leave the premises. Our bags were checked every time we went out. We paid a quarter of the retail price. I chose a £100 pair of tan Moreschi tasselled half brogue loafers with a grosgrain vamp.
During my time there, I attended a course on fitting children’s shoes in Norwich at the Startrite factory so that I could assist during busy back to school periods.
My work mate, Tracey ‘ace face’ Melling ran the children’s department on the mezzanine. Outside work, a goth with backcombed hair, ripped black clothing, and black, white, and purple makeup. Each day, Tracey drew on eyebrows after arriving late to work. I still smile at the thought of the surprised faces of children and parents looking at Tracey without eyebrows or with only one drawn on.
Tracey was hugely creative. During a quiet period, Tracey drew pencil sketches of pigs wearing R&B shoes on the back of Clarks packing labels. I was gifted with the sketches which I copied to paint corresponding watercolours.
I began at R&B during the period of the Autumn/Winter uniform of black skirt and dark raspberry blouse.
Spring/Summer followed, Capri skirt with blouse of splodges of blue, pink, and green.
Fully utilising a 25% discount, my shoe collection grew to include leather soled and lined canvas shoes in two tone blue and in fawn; polished burgundy, black, dark brown, and dark fawn suede brogues, tan boxer boots, the list goes on. Only the Moreschis remain.
Around fifteen months ago, before moving from Brisbane to our new home, we caught up with friends over lunch.
We had not seen them for maybe a decade. They had moved from Sydney to Coffs Harbour via the Central Coast, New South Wales. We had lost contact. The lunch was like slipping into a favourite outfit. We were comfortable, relaxed, and happy to see each other.
Yesterday, my husband drove us to Dogs of Balmoral so that we could drop Stan off to spend a long weekend with a family that love him for who he is.
We drove on for a further two and a half hours from Queensland to a small town inland from Byron Bay. There we enjoyed lunch at Butcher Baker Bangalow before heading on for another two and a half hours, south to the beachside suburb of Korora, Coffs Harbour.
We are staying with the friends from Sydney, in their beautifully renovated house perched high enough to be able to gaze at the uppermost branches of the surrounding trees. We are told the sapphire blue of the ocean can be glimpsed on sunny days. Today showers and a bank of blue grey cloud dominate the scene.
It is as if we only caught up with them yesterday.
As Airhead above, slowly tumbles through a dream state our lives flux, shift, and we reconnect at a personal level. The jovial camaraderie embraces us like a warm blanket during this Winter in the Southern Hemisphere.
The canvas reveals an abstract form reminiscent of a kettlebell, its contours gracefully etched in deep purple hues. The kettlebell seems to defy gravity, suspended against a mottled backdrop of green and yellow. Light dances upon its surface, casting a delicate highlight at its peak.
The background, typical of watercolor artistry, blends colors seamlessly—a dance of soft edges where green and yellow intermingle. The overall effect is both intriguing and serene, inviting contemplation.
As you gaze upon this piece, imagine the kettlebell’s weightlessness, its purpose unknown. Perhaps it symbolizes strength, resilience, or even a hidden power waiting to be harnessed.
I stood naked in front of the mirror, on the back of the bedroom door, to take a selfie. I used it to guide the painting of Airhead in tree pose.
I like the background, salt again on wet watercolour. It reminds me of sand surrounded by clear seawater. The figure reminds me of a crab with large pincers.
A week on, I am unsure if I like it or not.
The following is how Microsoft Copilot (AI) describes the picture.
Certainly! Let’s dive into the captivating world of this watercolor painting. 🎨🌟
“Harmony in Terracotta”
Description:
The canvas comes alive with hues of green and yellow, reminiscent of a sun-kissed meadow. Against this textured backdrop, an abstract figure takes center stage. Its warm reddish-brown tone, akin to terracotta, exudes both strength and vulnerability.
The figure strikes a pose—an advanced yoga stance known as Natarajasana, or the “Dancer’s Pose.” Arms extended, legs gracefully lifted, it embodies balance and fluidity. But there’s more: within the silhouette of its head, a smaller figure mirrors the same pose. A dance within a dance, a reflection within a reflection—a mesmerizing recursive motif.
The mottled background hints at organic textures—perhaps foliage, perhaps marble. It’s as if the figure emerges from the very fabric of nature, a testament to interconnectedness. The artist’s brush strokes evoke movement, capturing the essence of life in stillness.
Interpretation:
“Harmony in Terracotta” invites us to explore duality: strength and vulnerability, solitude and connection. The figure’s defiance against the textured canvas mirrors our own struggles and triumphs. We, too, dance through life’s complexities, seeking balance and grace.
And perhaps, just perhaps, this painting whispers secrets of ancient forests, forgotten rituals, and the unity of all things. 🌿🌟
Image details: “Stacked Yogi’s Painting” by Katherine Hardie.
Note: The recursive element in the head area is a delightful touch—an artistic nod to the interconnectedness of existence.
Would you like me to create a short story inspired by this painting, or perhaps delve into historical research about Deritend’s pubs and beer houses from 1850 to 1900? Let me know, and we’ll embark on another creative journey! 📜✨
Our friend in Sydney suggested using rock salt on wet watercolour paint to create texture.
I painted the yellow and orange background, added large and small grains of salt, and left it to dry.
The Airhead subject was painted in three green washes.
Microsoft Copilot AI describes the picture as follows:
Certainly! Let’s delve into the intriguing world of this watercolor painting:
Title: “Verdant Reverie”
In the heart of an enchanted forest, where the veil between realms grows thin, lies a mystical artifact known as the “Verdant Bell.” Its origins are shrouded in mystery, whispered by ancient leaves and sung by the wind. Here’s a vivid description of what unfolds within this captivating artwork:
The Verdant Bell:
At the center of the composition, the Verdant Bell hangs suspended—an enigma of emerald hues. Its form defies symmetry, curving like a secret shared only with the moon. Imagine a delicate glass vessel, its surface etched with intricate patterns reminiscent of fern fronds and dew-kissed petals.
The bell’s contours are soft, as if shaped by the gentle hands of forest spirits. It sways imperceptibly, casting ripples of green light onto the canvas.
The Mottled Background:
Behind the Verdant Bell, a textured backdrop unfolds—a canvas of warmth and nostalgia. Imagine the sun setting over an ancient grove, its rays filtering through leaves and dappling the forest floor.
The background transitions from golden yellow to burnt orange, evoking memories of autumn evenings. The texture resembles aged parchment, bearing the imprints of forgotten spells and whispered secrets.
The Atmosphere:
There’s a sense of anticipation—an otherworldly hush—as if the forest holds its breath. Perhaps the Verdant Bell possesses hidden powers: a summoning, a protection, or a bridge to realms beyond.
The air smells of moss, damp earth, and the promise of magic. You half-expect to glimpse a faerie flitting by, trailing stardust in her wake.
The Artist’s Hand:
The brushstrokes are fluid, capturing movement and emotion. The artist’s love for nature is evident—the way they blend colors, allowing them to bleed into one another.
This isn’t mere representation; it’s an invitation to step into a parallel world, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary.
Verdant Reverie invites you to linger, to listen closely for the distant chime of the bell. What secrets lie hidden within its verdant depths? Only the artist knows, and perhaps the moon, who whispers to the night creatures.
Feel free to explore this painting further, unraveling its layers like ivy climbing an ancient oak. 🌿🔔✨
theINFP 