The Groaning Poet

I was going through some papers and found an ink drawing I did for The Young Theosophist magazine several years ago. It's funny how you can look back at work you did over twelve years ago and think it's better than some of the art you do now.

My arms feel as if they're about to drop off as I struggle to finish the pointillist painting I'm doing for TLC. I am having difficulty obtaining a lightish green for the grass without making the picture too yellowy. I need to resolve that issue today so I can get onto another part of the painting as I still have one more of the four seasons to complete. At night I lie on the sofa and groan with pain- I'll never know how Frida Kahlo completed such large works when her spine was so agonizing. I don't have the excuse of a horrific accident for my misery, just incompetent medical treatment in my teens aggravating an existing condition.

Between drifting off to noddy land and feeling sorry for myself last night I was awoken from my self absorption by the phone ringing at 8.30pm. It was an apologetic Gaye, my landlady's mother in law, who had just finished reading "At the End Of A Golden Afternoon" for the third time. She was calling to ask if she could illustrate some of the poems as they had touched her so much. Gaye mentioned she hasn't felt this excited since she was thirty when she was illustrating The Lord of the Rings for her own pleasure. I was thrilled that she felt this way, especially as she just lost her husband a few short weeks ago.

I am going in to see her after art group next Wednesday as she wants to buy her own copy of the book plus I said I would give her some more recent poems to look at. I just wish I were still writing poetry but really it's one form of creativity where I do need to be inspired and all that left when Dad died on Sept 1st 2002 (Father's Day).