Apr 30th, 2009

They’re back!

They’re back! Coming out of the golden evening sun, swooping low along the landing and through the stairwell arch.  Then a circuit around the courtyard, cutting the corner and coming at maximum velocity straight towards me, veering away at the last second.

You could have heard me in Leith – I was yelling ‘they’re back, they’re back!’ like a nine-year old.  The swallows are back.  Strictly speaking, I’ve only seen one so far, but where there’s one there’s more.  Perhaps the chap I saw was a scout, sent on ahead. (more…)

Apr 28th, 2009

The unchosen words

This is an old project which has never really lived on paper as vividly as it does in my head.  I took the notion of words that were unchosen, words that were edited out, words that change in your mouth the instant before you say them, violent or outmoded words.  Who would they be? Where would they be? What would they say, these forgotten words, if they could speak to us?

Note: Image is hard to read, I know – couldn’t find a way to make it small enough for the blog but big enough to be legible.

Apr 27th, 2009

Diptych

Rootling through archives from my digital art days, I found this and realised that the tag line of this blog was (more or less) taken from this poem.  I think I wrote the poem about fifteen years ago and added artwork to it about five years ago.

Apr 27th, 2009

Selective hearing

Hearing is a complex thing, isn’t it? We talk about dogs (and children) having selective deafness but isn’t it true that our hearing is selective all the time?

Sitting here now in a quiet flat, for example, there’s the sound of my old (mechanical) clock, a pronounced tick. What’s odd is that I don’t hear it all the time, even at other quiet times.  I must, unconsciously, tune it out.

There’s a conundrum about clocks, even modern battery driven ones.  Which is tick and which is tock? (more…)

Apr 26th, 2009

Cherry blossom

I completely understand why the Japanese have a thing about Cherry Blossom.  I took this picture today of the blossom on a large cherry tree by the swan pond in the park.  Forget those tiny, manicured ornamental cherries that adorn people’s back gardens.  This is a handsome, mature tree whose roots reach over the wall into the next door rugby field.  This year it’s wonderfully floriferous, every branch stuffed with bloom.

I make a point, every Spring, of standing under the canopy of a cherry tree for a few moments, just gazing upwards.  My heart never fails to sing.  Each flowerhead is exquisite in and of itself but cumulatively, their beauty is breathtaking.

You don’t have to be Japanese to stop by a cherry tree in Spring and gaze in wonder and joy at the Cherry Blossom.

Apr 15th, 2009

Crime wave hits Stockbridge?

Around half past five yesterday, I was deep into a new book and only vaguely registered a lot of barking going on outside.   Eventually I went to the window and to my astonishment saw a posse of policemen in the courtyard.  This is a pretty civilised part of town and our courtyard is normally very quiet indeed.  Yet here were two squad cars, two motorbikes and what’s now called a ‘dog unit’.  Being a nosey old bag, I was out on that balcony in a trice to see better what was going on. How policemen look these days is still alien to me.  Polo shirts, no ties, stab vests. And it’s all black. There was one policewoman.  I suppose you’re not allowed to call them policewomen these days, they’re all ‘police officers’, but I can’t break the habit.  After all, policewomen were my main babysitters when I was a kid. And Father wore a shirt and tie under a thick serge tunic.  There’s no doubting that police officers today must be a damn sight more comfortable than Dad and his colleagues were. (more…)

Apr 14th, 2009

Baaaaaa

Carrying on from a previous post, I’ve pinned down where flock wallpaper comes in – it’s all in the sheep!

“The 1600s also marked the debut of flock paper. Flock is the small shearing of wool left over from the manufacture of cloth. The process involved painting the background color onto paper or canvas, printing or stenciling the design onto it with a slow-drying adhesive, and scattering the flock over the adhesive, producing a velvet-like pile over the chosen design. The practice began about 1600 but enjoyed its heyday from 1715-45 when exceptional quality paper of this type was imported from France into England.”

Photo by abmatic

Apr 10th, 2009

Flocks

Flocking – it’s what birds do, isn’t it? Flocks – of birds.  Pigeons, starlings, geese.  Except not all birds flock, do they? Hawks don’t flock – they’re the leopards of the sky those guys – solitary hunters. The heron that flew lazily past earlier doesn’t see the need for a dozen other large, long-legged birds to hang around with.  Crows roost but are too cynical and cool to flock – flocking’s for sissies.  Even that ubiquitous garden bird, the blackbird, doesn’t flock too often.  Mr Blackbird gets himself a missus and settles down to being a twosome.

Pigeons zoom back and forth in formation in front of my window all the time.  The chimneystacks make perfect cliffs. Did you know that they can fly at 40mph? I didn’t realise quite how fast that is until I tried to capture their flight on a stills camera. You don’t see just one pigeon sitting anywhere on its own for more than 30 seconds – it knows that others are on the wing, ready to join it.

Flock – funny word.  (more…)

Mar 12th, 2009

Naming my leavens

I’m shameless – I’ve pinched this idea from a bread blog.  It’s a piece of silliness but why not, I ask. So here, without further fanfare, are the names of my leavens:

The white leaven is Wilf. Wils is a strong and bold kind of beastie who only needs some flour and water flung at his cage every so often to flex his mighty yeasty muscles.

The rye leaven is Masha.  Masha is rustic and slower to respond, but has the passion of the Steppes in her molecules.

The spelt leaven is Elfric. He brings medieval sagacity to the family and can never be hurried. (more…)

Jan 13th, 2009

Rising in the new year

Last night, I sliced up a 950g block of fresh yeast into 25g portions and put them in my freezer.  It should really have been 20g, but my knife seemed to fall more naturally to 25. This morning, the flat smells like – well, like a living yeasty organism.  Old socks mixed with homebrew shop. When it gets light, I’ll don an extra jumper and throw open the windows to air the place.

The yeast thing is because I’ve become a born-again bread maker, thanks to a mixing machine, whose sturdy dough hook does all the kneading my wonky hands can’t.  So far, the resulting bread has been unexciting if mostly edible.  But I have ambition, fueled by the words on paper and screen of artisan bakers around the world. Years ago, my taste veered towards what I now know is Eastern European bread. (more…)