Elizabeth Frink and my Dad's Hat

This was on my birthday. Back in the darkest, earthy depths of early January. Am craving the Yorkshire Sculpture Park at the moment. Counting down until the Easter Holidays grant a little freedom. Surviving on chocolate biscuits and sheer, pure stubborness.

In the Bleak Midwinter

 Traditionally I hate the 2nd of January. National hangover day. Back to work if your not a teacher day. My birthday. Last year I  seriously considered changing it to something more friendly, less hardcore, like the 2nd of July. But no. My mum went through several days of labour and that is when I arrived. Three decades and some ago. So January the 2nd it is. I always plan to do something. So that I can pretend to the world that I'm happy. Having a good time. Pleased that everywhere is closed. Pleased that everyone is broke. On my thirtieth everywhere was really and genuinley closed. I had fish and chips with my nearest and dearest on the dining room floor. Can't quite remember why it was the floor... Anyway. This year, today, somehow went to plan. Was tentatively quite perfect. The Yorkshire Sculpture Park. Again (of course). Nothing had changed. No new works. But that was what made it right. I like that that things change so slowly there. I need the YSP to be constant. I rely on it. The seasons change around the artworks. That's what works for me. Today was about wrapping up warm. Donning wellies. Watching my daughter run with her cousins. Pretending to sound knowledgeble to my brother. Showing off my beloved sculpture park to people I love and willing them to love it too. Today I actually quite liked my stupid birthday...

Yorkshire Sculpture Park. Again. Again. Again and again...

I was in the very last group of students to train as teachers at Bretton Hall. It was in the grounds of the Yorkshire Sculpture Park and it is one of the very greatest shames that Bretton Hall no longer exists. I remember escaping out into the grounds to have a good old cry on many occasions. The stillness and presence of the sculpture used to calm my heart. Make things shrivel back into perspective. I think that is why I still use it as my escape today. There was a phase, earlier this year, when I went every week ( lots of bad times). Today I went. It was the first time in about 4 months. I like to show it to people. I want them to love it as much as me. Like sharing a secret. Saw the David Nash work for the first time. Not sure about it...It was interesting. But I think I have loved the previous two exhibitions too much ( Andy Goldsworthy, then Peter Randall Page). This was good, but for me, did not have the same impact. I will probably forget it easily. Move on to other things in my mind. The old work is still with me too strongly. I absolutley, completely and utterly loved Goldsworthy and Randall Page's work. Not ready to let go of that yet. I also recently discovered Rob Ryan here. In a little, tiny gallery. His breathtaking, spellbinding paper cuts. My walls, bookshelves and mind are fast becoming filled with his work. Now I would really, really like some of his tiles ( if only I had an art buying fairy...). I blame the YSP shop for that. It gets me everytime...

Today was special. I hope G loved it as much as I thought she would...?