El Bosque/The Forest - or Home

I have just discovered the forest in Alhaurín. I knew it was there, but it would appear that I have been flirting with it a little bit – or perhaps it has been flirting with me.

In truth I have been a little bit afraid of entering it. Although I was longing for the cool and still of the canopy I held back because I did not know how dark and mysterious it might be. I also did not want to rush it as I plan to be here for a very long time, so why try and find out everything at once? I want to savour each new experience before moving onto the next.

And so I danced around its edges. I began by walking up along the top road in Alhaurín – Calle Blas Infante – which is built up and has its share of shops, cafes and bars. I continued walking this road every day until I learned of a country road parallel to it, but just a bit higher up. This is in itself a much more satisfactory sort of road as it has more grass, wildflowers, trees and fields and no pavement and fewer houses so one has to walk on the road. Country.

But from certain points along this country road I could see the way some of the fincas stretched up as far as the first trees of the forest – their wire fences snaking their way up the incline and disappearing from view as the overgrowth becomes thicker or they meet a cliff face. For in a lot of that stretch, below the forest, on the south side of the pueblo, the slope of the mountain is broken at the base by a sheer drop. It is in this cliff face that you can see the caves. Some are quite large although they do not seem to extend deep within the earth – but the caves will have to be explored at some point in the future – for now it is the forest that holds me enthralled.

From the country road to forest was not a long transition – once I could see the close proximity to the lower level of the mountain I was like a moth fluttering closer and closer to the flame. So one day, not so very many weeks ago now, I walked up to it boldly and entered it.

As I had anticipated it is a place of awe and wonder. It is not a place for earphones, music or Spanish lessons, and I only take my phone in case of emergencies although there are always people walking dogs, jogging or cycling, so in fact you are quite safe, unless of course you leave the track and then you would be on your own – so I take it just to be on the safe side.

Although you do meet people there are not many, so the wonderful sense of isolation and contemplation is all around. The forest is mostly silent. Sounds are muffled but still at times you can hear the church bells from the village, very distant, and also sometimes cries and shouts of people (playing perhaps?) echo up, but it is only in parts. My favourite sound is the sudden cracking of a branch. Obviously there are some birds, still unidentified. Some of them caw like crows, although they are not – I saw one fleetingly yesterday and it had much more colour, some blue beneath and brownish on the back, and I have seen the eagles whirling overhead making their pip pip noise.

Of course if you stop and listen you can hear much more; the creeping of beetles and the rustle of branches in the wind and bees buzzing while they gather nectar.

But mainly as you walk you are overwhelmed by the silence around you, disturbed only by the crunch of your own feet on gravel or twigs

I have taken some photos, obviously, and am delighted at how some of them really capture the essense of the forest – the blackness of the shadow between the trees and the brightness and contrast of a shaft of light as it forces its way through some gap or other in the foliage. There is also a blue haze that permeates parts of the forest, like magic mist.

The trees are mainly pine – although in the later part of my walk – obviously depending which direction you take – these are replaced by olive, some fig, some oak and other species as yet unidentified.

I believe the pine trees to be pinus pinea or Stone or Umbrella Pine – the latter name really appealing to me now and opening all sorts of parallel avenues! If anyone knows different then please email me and correct me of course. The bark is very distinctive with very strong vertical platelets – the colour ranges from various greys to terracotta. Really beautiful. I love the strong texture and the earthy palette. I have also discovered – if my identification is correct – that these have large edible nuts in the cones, so I must watch out for these.

Of course I am keeping my eyes and other senses peeled for signs of mushrooms as the thought of being able to go a-mushrooming in the autumn is a thought which truly gladdens my heart. I don’t think you could ever go hungry if you lived in a forest and you know how I feel about mushrooms!

And so I explore – so far I have not strayed very far from the forestry pathway, which is large enough to take a car by the way, but bit by bit I know I will venture off road and further up the side of the mountain, but that is not usually recommended to do on your own – in any event it is still a bit too hot, but in another month who knows. For now I am content to continue my flirtation getting to know the curves and nuances and studying the light and magic places in the most traveled part of the forest.

I love the forest and now that I have found it I feel more content and more fulfilled in my choice to move here. I knew it was the right place for me to call ‘Home’

Artist's Block or Clouds and Silver Linings

Did I write about this subject before. If I did, well forgive me, as I am going to write about it again. Why? Because it is an affliction that affects all artists form time to time – some more than others – and it is so frustrating and debilitating. When it happens you procrastinate and procrastinate and then finally sit facing an empty canvas or sheet of paper and realize that it is now or never and so nothing else gets done in the house, as actually everything has been done during the first period of procrastination. No more books may be read either, because that is procrastinating too, although it can be classed as inspiration at times, in which case it may then be allowed, but you have to read something worthy not some easy-read-bodice-ripping-yarn. And then it is Ohmygod! I have to produce something or never again!

I wish I had a job in the library. Then I could pretend that I was not an artist and never was.

When I was little I thought it was great to be an artist. Not because I thought it was a cool profession, in those days things like that never entered my head as I was too busy looking at clouds or umbrellas, but because if you make things – like I did – then you were never lonely or never bored.

How wrong was I!

I get terribly lonely sometimes and when I am facing that empty sheet of paper I can be so bored, because nothing presents itself – then it is little steps. I might draw a leaf. But then that leads to nothing. I try to draw a landscape. Difficult at the best of times. Nothing. A building – I could never draw straight lines anyway. I go through old notebooks and try to haul out ideas from them. I have some good ideas there, but then trying to draw them when I am like this can be impossible. I draw another leaf. Terrible, it doesn’t even look like a leaf. I can’t draw and will never be able to draw again! I get up and pace the floor backwards and forwards, thinking, thinking, what will I draw? What do I want to draw? I go upstairs into the bedroom and look out the window at my pigeons for inspiration. They are not even there – gone out shopping I suppose – I look at an empty drainpipe, well empty except for those dirty plastic bottles which I must remove when I get a long stick. Not much inspiration here.

I go to my artbooks and look through them. Fantastic! All these artists making all this fabulous work and I can’t even draw a blessed leaf! That doesn’t help it only makes me more frustrated and jealous. I wail and gnash my teeth – not that this helps either, but it is involuntary.

I go downstairs again and sit in front of my paper. It is blank.

I go into the kitchen and make a cup of tea – I wander round polishing a bit while the kettle boils. Teabag, stir, squeeze – half a spoon of sugar, stir – good dollop of milk – it is all about ritual. Anything to waste another bit of time without having to stare at that darned piece of paper. The blank piece.

I sit down in front of my blank piece of paper and drink my cup of tea. I finish the tea, the paper is still blank. I go to the kitchen and wash the cup and put it to drain on the draining board.

I sit down in front of my blank piece of paper and pick up my pencil desperately looking around me for inspiration – even my hair is standing up on end with frustration! There is no inspiration at the kitchen table under the stairs.

I get up and go back upstairs, I have had an idea. I get my old source books out – which I made in college and miraculously kept – well it wasn’t really a miracle it was because I remember our tutors saying that when you were blocked – and everyone gets blocked from time to time – get out your old sketchbooks and sourcebooks and look at them. What wise tutors we had in college and how wise I was to listen to them.

I go through the source books and find a picture I like which could work with the theme I wish to explore so I go downstairs again and slowly, very slowly start to copy the picture – just copy it – that is ok, it is still my drawing of the photo in front of me and as such it starts to take on a small life of its own and bit by bit I become absorbed in the process of making lines and drawing wrinkles, I do not want to put in any shading at this point as this is going to be a line drawing for a print – the shading will come with the cutting of the plate. I do not notice the time going until I look up and find it is getting dark in the room where I sit and there are mosquitoes nipping at my ankles, so I get up to close the door.

My body is stiff from being in the same position for a long time and my eyes smart from squinting at the paper and from the tears of frustration that were flowing freely from them earlier that day and for the past few days.

I look at the drawing again and am happy with it. That is a result, although I am not out of the woods yet. Still it is late and my body is tired so I pour a drink and allow myself to sit at the table with a book in my hand and read a bit to take my mind off the terrible day I have put down.

From early morning until late in the evening I have finally produced a tiny little speck of a drawing and I know it is not one of my best, but it is better than the leaves or the other various attempts I made over the past few days.

The house is spotless. All the bedlinen has been washed and the floors have been swept, vacuumed and washed down twice. Window frames have been cleaned and all the little corners of the kitchen have been attended to. I hung a picture and the clock in the kitchen, filed all my documents and receipts – which means I will not be able to find anything. I picked up all the clothes draped on the floor the two bedroom chairs and the end of the bed and folded and put them all away. The ones that needed washing have been washed and folded and put away also. I sorted though my chest of drawers as well for old clothes and these have been washed, folded and bagged for the charity shop. The toilets have been scrubbed, delimescaled and bleached to within and inch of their lives and all the chrome fittings are sparkling.

Letters have been written, blogs have been written, Spanish verbs have been copied and filed for later use (in other words – lost). All the old newspapers have been tossed and I even swept my under-construction-terrace although there is no real need as it really is a work in progress and no matter how many hanging baskets you put on it a cement mixer will always be a cement mixer.

Artist’s block does have its upside I will grant you. But those tears of frustration and the fear of never being able to draw again, not to mention the strain that all the drinking puts on your liver while you have nothing else to do – those are not so good.

People think that being an artist is a jolly life. You get to sit in bars all day and observe people, you are allowed to drink too much and people almost expect you to be wild and behave badly. Some artists do that is true, but most of us just live quietly and try to scrape a living from our work and live from one block to the next with the thought of the next one never far away even when we are working like a maniac.

I remember someone once referring to my art as a ‘hobby’ (I was working as well at that time) that too is not a true perception of what it is to be an artist. It is a compulsion, at least it is for me and part of who I am as a person, my identity, which is why that block is such a threat to me. If I cannot draw or make or whatever, then what am I. At this point in my life I think it unlikely that I will be able to reinvent myself as something else – an engineer for instance – I have been an artist now for 50 year after all and it is somewhat engrained. I was born with this affliction and am certain now that I will die with it. But it is not such an easy ride as people think – I only hope that in time I will also become better at dealing with the block when it comes. But then the house would never get a Spring clean!

Some Like it Hot

Well, now it is HOT!

I am sitting in a pool of sweat – unfortunately not a swimming pool!

I am simply melting, but refuse to be put off. It is still a novelty and after the years and years of incessant rain and cold winds and storms that I have put down in recent times this is definitely preferable.

Let me count the upsides of too much heat:

1. It is dead easy to drink your required eight glasses of water a day!
2. You hardly ever have to go to the toilet for a wee.
3. Like a sauna, it really cleans all the ingrained dirt out of your pores, but there is no snow to roll in after the sauna. Actually the sauna does not end!
4. You don’t have to wear many clothes which saves on washing.
5. You don’t have to wear sunblock because it is too hot to go out
6. But you do manage to keep a nice little brown glow going by very short exposures – to the line and back is sufficient.
7. On that subject – clothes dry really quickly
8. You don’t need to put on the central heating in the evenings or fill a hotwater bottle on your way to bed.
9. You can’t tell when you have a hot flash – because you seem to have one that lasts all day and all night and everybody else is having them too. All of Spain is menopausing!
10. If you forget to close the window before leaving the house for the day you don’t have to worry about the rain blowing in all over all your bits on the windowsill.
11. You never have to take a jacket or a wrap on a late night out, although mosquito repellant is advisable
12. No jumpers
13. No overcoats
14. You can work slowly and no one complains
15. The weeds do not bother to grow so there is no weeding to be done
16. Mind you as we have discovered that our garden is just one great big rock I do not think that weeding is going to be a huge problem over the years – a huge Zen garden springs to mind! So just a bit of gentle raking when I am in the mood
17. You can admit to taking a snooze in the afternoon and you don’t have to call it a power nap anymore.
18. Will I continue?
19. Or are you getting the picture
20. When I finally get my wonderful terrace built out the back of the house I will be able to spend the summer time slopping about making fantastic clay sculptures and not worry about getting covered in water and wet clay – it will be an image from Woodstock or Reading Festival, but perhaps a bit more creative.

I do think I have earned this right to be enjoying my life here – obviously it is not perfect as I have been at pains to point out in previous postings, but as a life choice this has to count as one of my better ones. In fact I am not sure that I actually made any real choices before this one – they sort of happened in a much more organic way and I was reactive rather than proactive. Mind you this one I could probably have thought through a bit more first, but hey! That would go against a whole lifetime of shooting from the hip and being led by my heart.

And both those things have served me pretty well so far.

Pigeon Pie

This is the blog I did not want to write – but somehow I knew it was coming. It is a dog eat dog world. Heavens! I write about it and ‘art’ about it often enough and I think about it constantly – but it does not make it any easier.

Just the other day I saw a skinny feral cat calmly crossing my back terrace, hopping up onto the neighbour’s wall – the one jagged up with glass – picking her way across and agily dropping down onto the next terrace before walking into the back shed, all the while gripping the swinging carcass of a huge fat pigeon - feathers awry and head lolling.

And of course I have already told of the other pigeon that was taken by the eagle over our skylight.

There are constant battles for supremacy and survival going on all the time – in my garden, in the street, in our homes and in all of life.

But still all that did not prepare me for the loss of my two adolescent pigeons.

It all happened last night. It is very hot, very hot at the moment. Something about the heat makes the noise and excitement levels rise. Add to that another feria on its way – Our Lady of Alhaurin or something – I have not quite twigged into this one yet. The preliminaries involve letting off those terrible rockets, which upset all the pigeons anyway – sending them flying off in a soaring flock of feathers and terror. But the rockets and then the band music also pumps up the hunting spirit in a band of young gypsies who frequent our street and the square. They make a lot of noise and make mischief – the extent of which I am not certain

I have observed this particular gang over the past months – they are growing in strength and audacity. I saw them the other day in the square in the very hot afternoon intent on tipping over chairs of the various establishments there and trying to steal the napkin holders or other loose articles from the tables. Some might smile and think that it is merely juvenile high spirits and to some degree it is. But when that mischief turns to a habit and shopkeepers and homeowners are worried for their property and businesses on a regular basis then it becomes a problem. People eye them with suspicion and nervousness.

Sometimes the group is small 3 or 4, at other times it doubles or trebles in size and then in its strength and hyped-up excitement also.

As you know I have been watching over my baby pigeons for some weeks now – merely observing them and taking a few photos. From time to time they eye me with some suspicion, but I hope that on the whole they do not view me as a threat.

Last night – the gang of youths arrived in the lane, intent on getting hold of the pigeons – they seem to have a fascination for hunting them anyway. I have seen them in the square where, to be honest, it is a fair fight with adult birds who can fly away, but who take a chance on trying to grab a morsel of food and sometimes the boys do manage to grab them. I have no idea if they take them home for the pot or keep them as livestock or pets, but as I say that is a fair fight and the pigeons usually get away – but this was an attack on adolescent birds who could not fly.

They should have been safe – they were up in a drainpipe two floors up and the boys had spent enough time throwing bottles and cans up at them with no result – so much so that I need to get a stick of some sort to reach across the lane to clear the rubbish out of the gutter – another inconvenience. But ingenious enough after shouting and throwing things for some time they went home only to return some time later armed with sticks and nets.

I had spoken to them on their first foray from my bedroom window, asking them to leave the birds alone, but they actually simply ignored me completely. I did not say anything this time as I did not wish to bring trouble on myself – you can see how they operate now – there are a lot of them and I am here on my own just at the minute and even if I wasn’t, my wonderful man might (probably would) go in all guns blazing and get himself in trouble with the local authorities – you know the way these things work nowadays, the criminals always seem to get off scott free, while the law-abiding person, simply trying to protect himself, his property or his family becomes the bad guy! It just makes me so cross and makes me feel so impotent in the face of badness.

Anyway – to cut a long story short, something I am not inclined to do at the best of times. With loud whooping and baying for blood my babies were eventually ripped from their home to suffer who knows what fate at the hands of their tormentors. I did not watch, but knew from the shouts that it was happening and woke in the morning to an empty drainpipe.

I began this post a few days ago (even longer now) and have been mulling over what I have written and have edited myself severely. There are a lot of serious issues addressed here I believe, ones of human rights and justice as well as cruelty and gang warfare and intimidation. I live in this world as a pacifist (which does not mean that I do not lose my temper from time to time). I have on occasion stuck my head up over the parapet on behalf of myself and others, only to get shot down in flames. I am loathe now to do it again, but I believe that there others who are younger and more energetic who will fly that flag in the future. All I feel that I can do now is observe and report and hope that someone will be able to do something some day and that the world will change for the better.

A Return to Some Normality - and a bit of introspection

Thank you to all of my friends who - sort of - commiserated with me on my recent accident. I take laughter and shocked horror as commiseration and concern!

As you can see my face has returned to its normal proportions - it is still as crooked as the crooked man in the Nursery Rhyme, but apparently that is a birth defect - I think I must have suffered some trauma coming down the birth canal. But hey ho! I have no recollection of it and have become used to my lopsided nose now - i don't remember it ever holding me back and when I got my nose pierced at 16 it made the decision of which side to pierce much easier really. Though I do think that it has become more crooked as the years have passed, but as my looks are far less important by this time of my life - it really does not matter that much.

That said - i have just spent five minutes writing about it so it must mean something to me! Hmmmm?

Otherwise life has returned to normal - that is i spend an inordinate length of time in front of my computer - writing and drawing and manipulating images. My tan has quite faded, so now I have to make the effort to spend a half an hour outside every day. I try to sit out for my lunch - although today it was too hot and i go for a slow, leisurely walk in the afternoon to the shops to get anything that I need.

I still do my morning walk.

My morning walk is probably more important for a number of reasons, although it will not make me go brown.

First of all for my health - it is the only exercise I get nowadays, although I am trying to do a few stretches again now to keep limber. Those I do throughout the day as a break from sitting at the computer.

Secondly for my education - I plug into my little Ipod and do my aural and oral Spanish lessons - which of course makes me look totally mad as people see me striding along talking to myself. I try not to move my lips too much or to speak too loudly, but with earplugs in you can never be too sure.

Thirdly I get to check that everything is in its place in town and that the mountains have not shifted and if there is any building work going on I can inspect progress on a daily basis. It is no wonder that I am exhausted by ten o'clock in the morning!

Anyway, regarding insects and spiders and any other uninvited guests to this house I now have a military regime in hand - especially in the bedroom where I am the most vulnerable as I do tend to sleep like a log and honestly the house could fall down around my ears and i would not wake. It involves absolute cleanliness and a few well placed insecticides.

That said - the other day I was minding my own business, upstairs, tapping away on my computer when there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and sensing the worst I rushed down the stairs. I had made an omelette for my lunch that day - but it was rather large so i transferred half of it onto another plate and left in on the work top to cool, before putting it in the fridge. It was not there long, because i knew that i would have to check it for ants and get it into the fridge ASAP. But there it now lay on the floor amongst the debris of a smashed dinner plate. I can only conclude that it was a cat as they are the newest visitors that i have seen skulking around lately. So even though I may be living solo at the moment - and only temporarily - I am not alone, nor do I seem to get the chance to be lonely with all this colourful wildlife!

So there you have it!

A Lifetime of Denial

Christ! I have just realised I have the most crooked face in the world!

Trout Pout

Please forgive me for frightening the children!

This is how i woke up this morning - I promise you that I have not weakened and had collagen injections into my lips to make them fuller. Oddly enough I have always wanted more luscious lips, but now that it has happened i want my own thin lips back again.

What happened you might ask?

Well as far as I know I was bitten by a mosquito or some other insect during the night.

I had just dropped off to sleep but was woken by some sensation, which turned out to be a little stinging in my lip. I lay there thinking for a while, licking the sore lip and realising that it really was sore and not just my imagination. So I got up and went into the bathroom to investigate. On turning my lip back I could see a little blister just starting to swell, so concluded that it was a bite. I applied an antihistamine cream to the area and then went and checked my mosquito plug-in, which was turned off because we had a small power outage yesterday and it had not occurred to me to reset it. So i reset it and sprayed myself and all the surroundng areas with Deet. But too late - for the horse had bolted.

Over the next hour or so, during which I read, slept fitfully and checked on progress of the lip in the mirror my lip grew and grew and grew to this ridiculous proportion. I was wondering if I should go along to the accident and emergency, but felt alright otherwise so waited until the morning.

I took this photo first thing, when the swelling had reached its zenith! Shocking really. And then toddled off to the A & E where to add insult to injury I got jabbed in the bottom too. So now I am sore at both ends. Ho hum! Surely the day can only get better now. :-)