#ipswichartist

[airiejynx]

Flaneur; A continued reality

It's 23 Jan '15.

On the 4th Dec '14, on the 6 year anniversary of my Grandad's death, from a ruptured aneurysm, I got a call from Addenbrookes Hospital telling me that the thing in my head was not a tumour, but an aneurysm. After 3 cancellations, and weeks of waiting, I was finally operated on on the 24th Dec '14. Yes, on Christmas Eve. 

Friends came to visit, including Christmas day, but I was so drugged up the whole day floated by like a unicorn riding a fluffy cloud... 

I stayed in hospital until 29th Dec '14, when I was finally allowed home.

There are so many experiences - good and bad that I could linger on and describe to the second, however I am so bored of regurgitating the same information over and over to each person that thinks they are the first to ask, that I'd rather concentrate on now.. as me. 

Me.

Who am I?

Am I the same person? 

My concentration and short term memory are buggered, aspects of my personality that were once imperative. 

What makes me the same person? The thoughts in my head? My face? The way I hug?

I am curious. 

I was terrified at the prospect of no longer being able to draw. It literally kept me awake worrying. Alas, I can still draw, perhaps marginally better than before? Apparently I can still write, also. 

Slowly my life is returning to me, but I am still existing in this tiny shell; my glistening bubble of life reflecting down onto me, taunting me. People from my bubble come and go, however I remain on the edge, waiting for the moment that I can return to my life. 

The harsh realisation that my life will never be the same is something I've had to adjust to. It still hasn't hit. I haven't tried to pull a pint, swim, or cycle, since my surgery. I am "convalescing'.  Taking it easy. 

I've spent forever longing for time to just take it easy and catch up with myself. And yet here I am, eagerly awaiting my first shift back at work, and back in front of a computer typing up mindless essays for university. 

It's an odd existence.

But an existence nonetheless.

I am grateful to be here; to be alive and (not yet) kicking. 

Life's priorities suddenly become very clear when you are faced with a potential death sentence. When you look the man in the eye who states he "may not be able to save you" and nod, what else can you possibly do?

"You will die if you don't have this procedure. You also may not survive this procedure - a 25-40% rate of stroke/brain damage/ death. Shall we go ahead" 

Fuck.

I walked into the theatre and laid down. At peace with the thought that I would not wake up. I genuinely expected to close my eyes, and never open them again. 

And here I am. The other side. 

Life.

[airiejynx]

The Flaneur; The Third Eye

In A Level Philosophy 8 years ago, the class was asked to write a paragraph describing a pencil. I got more out of that lesson than I did of two years GCSE English. I instinctively knew what to write, how to articulate this tube of lead, surrounded by compressed wood that was coated in a film of lacquered paint. I cannot now do justice to the wording that I once used, nor do I need to - the response from my teacher confirmed my growing confidence as a cocky teenage creative. Of course once again I write this on the bus journey to my sisters. While passing fields and fields of various shades of green, yellow and brown I automatically switch from town habitant to country girl. I instinctively begin to see through my 'third eye' - the best way I can describe not just looking, but seeing. Every single colour jumps out at me, teasing me, while every contrasting texture on the landscape around me chops and changes with each field edge, road and hedge line. And it occurs to me, how many other people can switch into this at their leisure? While these thoughts race around my head, I try to think of an analogy to fit this. When a photographer looks through a camera lens, he focuses on an area of interest, while the surrounding scene lays in a fog of 'bokeh'. I wonder, if this is how it feels to not actually SEE, but to peer at a minuscule amount of detail, while the world slowly passes in a hazy existence? The third eye that I refer to, is something we all have access to, and it seems that so many are unaware of it. I partly feel saddened for these people, while also feeling liberated and privileged to be so tuned in myself.

[airiejynx]

The Flaneur: Creative Spectrum.

http://youtu.be/1OXBvx5Kw8A Sunday Folk Session at the Mulberry Tree. A group of amazingly talented musicians being captured by me and Alan Turner with our sketchbooks, and Robert Negus with his camera. Amazing source of inspiration.