Tea and Procrastination

These days, it seems I just don’t have space left inside my head.  I can come up with numerous ideas, scribble them down, and then procrastinate until they seem to fizzle.  So many ideas, not enough time and before I know it, its night time, I’ve watched another four films and haven’t bothered to actually create anything.  Which, pretty much equals more than plenty of time, especially as I’m off work for two weeks. Do you see where this is going? I'm going to show you my messy work space, you can at least try to see where I'm coming from.  First issue is mess.


This work room (ex sitting room, but now taken over with crafts stuff) is as messy as inside my head.  You're going to have to excuse the spelling errors and such like.  I tend to go with the flow, yes I know... Not a good idea when posting, but whato and all that!!!


Doesn't matter how often I start to tidy it, it just never seems to get there.  Today, I am on a rather big moan and sabotaging myself and my efforts once again.  You see,  I fill my head with soooo much that it’s impossible to get to do all the things I really want to do.


Somehow I self explode (or is that implode??)  and end up doing little or nothing.  I used to have masses of energy and worked from day till night, from my full time job, to working on music until early hours, to seeing friends, making stuff, loads of stuff, selling, having fun, having relationships, living.  The less I do, the less energy I seem to have.  Today, I am letting you inside the creative messed up mind.

I know, wait till you see the rest!  How can anyone have a clear mind in this lot.  It's like a messed shop that has been found after hundreds of years of neglect!  Yes, i realise that I could make things better by getting rid of most of this stuff, especially the things I probably can do without....  But i can't. I might need them one day.

I have always wanted a Gocco, I now have two.. Have I ever used them?  Ummmmm.

This space, right here, is like the inside of part of my brain.

This pooch is meant to go to one of the nephews, it's filled with coins. Have I let him escape as yet? Ummmmm.

Looks like something out of nothing, something which probably would take someone who loves to tidy, no time at all....

8.5ft oil painting of a fly!

I just don’t know how to prioritize my own work load.  I get bored easily, work on three necklaces at one time, jump from those to searching for something that I had forgotten I had, somewhere lost in time (mess of the work room), research stuff online, go back to the necklaces, pop off for a tea, research something else, shop online and then shop some more because the idea is burning inside my head.  

I have a collection of Molly Murphy paintings and drawings.  I only stopped collecting because I have no more room.

This was commissioned in memory of my Ma. by C. Thompson

See, I try.  Muji and Ikea love my debit card! Black boxes not my first choice, but ho hum.

I adore collecting art.  Top to floor and no more room, I shall post about the artists another time.

Gerald - My Mums Monkey.  She just called him Monkey. I know, you feel like you're being treated somehow, don't you? :P

See, there is a special box for felt and one for Cotton.  Have these gone back into their boxes?  Ummmm.

It’s frustrating; I would like to be reprogrammed please.  I need to be able to file things inside my brain and pull them out when I need them.  Not for all the ideas to step up, screw up pages and pages of process and chuck them at me from behind their own home made sofas inside my head.  They bombard me; they scare me, because as much as I want to do all these things, I don’t ever seem to get much done.  I just finished a 6 week holiday programme with kids at work.

It was full on, enjoyable most of the time, frustrating at other times due to some of the kids that use the place.  Frustration sets in and the worry that I will never escape, as much as I don’t really mind the work, I fear I will be far too old to get on with my own stuff.  Never earning enough, never being able to survive as a designer/constructor, maker of ‘stuff’.  Moan, moan, moan, moan, drone on moan some more!!!

Shameful MESS and this isn't everything I'm showing you.  No, no wait there's more.

Molly Murphy Painting

I'm not even sure why I am showing you all this.  I think it's time for a  break isn't it?  I doubt you'll get to the end of this waffling.

Meanwhile the dream of blue seas, beaches and no mess with French windows opening out onto the sands of time, fade and I am stuck here in an inner city miniature flat made for miniature mice, trying to tell myself it’s not the end of my life.  Of course, where ever I go, I take me with me, so work that one out....

A birthday gift, a portrait of me from my friend and artist Alexa.

Why do they sit next to my uncomfortable chair?  Because I ran out of space on the wall to floor shelving *rolls eyes*.

Me at least six years ago.  It's the only picture I like.  I look wrinkled in it, but I like my short hair!!! :D

One whole wall from floor to ceilingsis covered with these amazing shelves.  Still there wasn't enough storage.

Why can’t I just be grateful for being able to walk, to think, to work?  I heard a snippet of a take from a woman who called into a show about how her husband, who had passed away, would still weep with his friends at the age of seventy, for the bombing raids they took part in.  I have never had to experience that, I didn’t have to kill for my country, I didn’t see those atrocities, so why can’t I just be happy with my lot and not dream?  It brought tears to my eyes to think of those men weeping for the people they killed, a job they had to do during the war years.  I tell myself I should feel gratitude for being fortunate, for being alive, but I can never understand why it’s never enough for me to say those things to myself.

I'm a hoarder, I'm messy and I can't stop spending.  I have issues, especially around cake.

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by A. Lazar taken from an odd angle so the image is fuzzy.

My art makes me happy.  Creating makes me happy.  I just wish I wasn't so messy and had a bigger place.  I'd still be a craft trollop, but as logic goes, If I had a bigger place, it would mean I have more money, so I could then afford a house keeper.  Hip hip!!!

Guess who? I haven't even shown you half of her work.

Without sounding impossible, or brattish, I just want to create somewhere nice, whether its jewellery, art, stories, cards....  I just don’t want to do it here anymore.  sixteen years feels like a prison sentence, some of their cells are bigger than this.   – but my other voice (you know the one, I think they call it the voice of reason) says I should create where ever I can, it shouldn’t matter.

I am choosing to ignore this voice of reason.

I’d even hop up to Brighton, well, maybe Hove, if I had the money.  But oh yes, I spent it all on a craft room, and equipment and materials, that I doubt anyone would actually ever be able to use in a life time, least of all me.  I hoard, because ‘you just never know when you may need it’.  Except, I forget what I’m hoarding.  I make lists; I try to store stuff in a way where I label or log where things are.   This doesn’t always go to plan.  Somehow, over time it all goes wrong. I want space.  I wonder if I had space if I would find some other reason... Voice of reason says; Of course you would.

I want to breathe clean air, I want to feel the wind biting into my cheeks, I want to smell a forest and feel branches crunch under foot, and I want to see greenery.  Not windows surrounding me back and front of this flat...  What’s that Alfred Hitchcock film called....?  You know the one, where the bloke in a wheelchair sees a murder.  That’s how these places are, back and front, a theatre for neighbours. OH  STOP WHINING ME!  It hurts my head, why inflict it on others?  *thanks voice of bloody reason*

I want a workroom with a glass roof (yes, ok, so now I’m going off on one – you see, this is what I do...) a huge garden, French windows, coffee brewing, massive kitchen with everything I have ever desired, high ceilings, wall to wall, floor to ceiling windows, everything in its place and a big puffy sofa that could fit a burlesque troop on it.  All my art work surrounding me so I could see it all every day, a work room that is bright and big and doesn’t take the place of a living area.

A kitchen that smelt of French apple tarts baking, bathrooms off every bedroom, wood every where and enough space to hold a party and have people to stay.
Portugal would be good, the Silver Coast, not sure why really as I’ve never been there.  Switching from Berlin to Portugal to London, who knows?   I feel creatively stifled here in this place, although once again, the voice of reason tells me, there is more to life than fantasies like this.  Again, I give the voice of reason a slap.

My memory is failing me badly, my friends and family laugh about it, but it worries me somewhat, you’d think I was in my 70’s.  I feel as though I’m in the wars, in my head, in my life, in my mouth!  Funny how, with a failing memory,  I never forget how to spend money or eat cake and ice cream. Hey ho.  I can't fit any more pics on here.  It's already a novel as it is.  Breaking all the rules of posting blog stuff according to the 'this is what you shouldn't do' blog....

Looking at the positive, I bashed around the Dyson scaring my cats whilst cussing this mouse sized flat, changed the bedding, did loads of washing, sorted bins for tomorrow and still didn’t lift any pliers.  I cried a little on hearing from my nephew with his news that he has been waiting for, and then realised....
There are more important things in life than putting this much effort into  bitching and moaning about being unsatisfied with what I don’t have, I should be cherishing the things in life that do.  Mind you, I'll still complain, if only I had that glass ceiling.....