this is how it feels...

I had forgotten what it felt like to have a space entirely for me, without reference to my lovely family. Joyous. Thrilling. Intoxicating. My virgin studio has two generously large Georgian windows- the light gloriously sublime, reflecting possibilities around the high, white walls and ceiling. It begs me for expansive, bold canvases to honour its space and begin its legend. The floor is bare board and ready to be spilled and spattered upon. Oh the sense of excitement and liberation! Here lies the scene of my new agenda- my expression of self and the abandonment of apology for being less than. It feels like I've been waiting all my life for this heady time, where my story can be rewritten, defined anew by the very existence of a studio of my own. Joyous. Thrilling. Intoxicating.

It could be deduced from my last post, that my erstwhile screaming induced a subsequent tide of family trauma and illness in which I lost my voice. I hadn't yet got into the blogging habit, and so sharing here was not foremost in my thoughts. With large sighs of relief, big enough to fill a sky-soaring hot air balloon, complete with human cargo and accompanying paraphernalia, family life is settling down and better health is trickling through. September is here and I am transfixed, misty eyed with mellow fruitfulness as I contemplate the slow calming of the seasons while the year begins to wind down. In contrast, for me Autumn has always meant a time of fresh beginnings, renewed intentions and the drive for change. However, a year ago I was propelled into limbo when my mother died. She was 89 and had lived with dementia for many years. I thought all was for the worst and no hope would enter here. But 12 months on, with a slow passing of familial stresses to some haphazard emo...