Salvage

I have been learning how to distress and give an aged look to a second hand mirror.
Originally it was a very orangy would.
I painted it gold, rub bed areas with candle wax and then gave it a top coat of watered down white acrylic.

Then the wax is rubbed or picked off to reveal the gold beneath. You can see this in the bottom of the photo. Tomorrow I will remove all of the wax when I can get inside. Along with the decoupage experiments my mums sewing corner is now full of wet paint and glues.

I would love a workshop…

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Literary London

One of my Christmas presents is a great little book my mum gave me: 221B Baker Street to the Old Curiosity Shop; A Guide to London’s Literary Landmarks

It is full of all the literary connections to parts of London, pubs Dickens characters drank in and poetry back to medieval times.

I love how London still has it’s places from the past to reveal. I could live there a lifetime and still not know it all.

Village life seems trapping compared to my view of London as infinite and ever changing.

I think of the opening to ‘The Crimson Petal and the White; “Keep Your wits about you. This city is vast and intricate.”

This book is a little comfort in sinking back in to the places I miss being at my feet.

Christmas

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I woke to drafty sunlight on the little futon of the unheated little room I grew up in. The urge to get outside and walk overtook any of the excitement of childhood to look under the tree.

I struck out in to the village like the scene in Withnail and I when Marwood goes in search of food. None of the villagers said happy Christmas to my awkard smiles in the hope they would.

The muddy curling road through the marshes has never changes. Flat fields and deep ditches echo with the sound of crows. I used to cycle that route with my dad and twin brother as a child up to the opening of the north sea. On snakey grasses and war fortes we would feast on crusty rolls, cheese slices and Dr. Pepper.

Moving back in to my parents old cottage has brewed up mixed emotions. Sometimes I feel my London is unatainable, unreachable from such a remote place without a car. Sometimes the familiarity makes the thought of another houseshare of strangers and no money to eat normally outweighs my need to perform. There is nowhere here to perform and the trains from London end too early.

In two weeks I become a literature student in London.with little work to fund it and nowhere to live.

It is such an undecided contradiction to keep juggling country life, remote and dark, to the never-ending glowing city.

Ada

Heels deep in mud with a duck quacking in alarm, I tested my finished hula hoop costume in the graden. Trying to spin the hoop on and off my neck with a large bonnet is proving tricky.
I must say I rather love wearing crinolines and bustles they seem to transform the way I move and I wish we still dressed like this.

The act was originally devised for a performance with My Aerial Home where my teacher had the genius idea of hiding my hoops under my hoop skirt.

I grew quite obsessed with the movie The Piano and its main character Ada and have performed as her ever since.

On Sunday I will get to film the routine and can finally start applying to perform again.

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The Piano

This is my second go on the huge keyboard I inherited from my grandad. Not content with simple songs, I have decided to teach myself Micheal Nymans soundtrack from the piano as I perform hoops as the main character. Learnt to read music aged 5 so figured I can work it out some how.

Escape

The dull light, comfort of rain sucked me back in to London. Only a day but I have escaped the suffocating village to my beloved city.

I went to view a houseshare in a place I’ve never been but stole away the day in my new favourite haunt; Holland Park.

I recently stayed in a youth hostel inside the park gates which I highly recommend. Part of it is in a large Jacobean brick building and when there I feel so peaceful and back in time.

I wandered the old outbuildings and gardens in rain feeling like a Bronte spin off. It is my little ancient haven in London.

An old routemaster bus pulled up by Philimore Gardens and its millionaire, doll house, mansions. I leapt on the back as it pulled away in a Fred Astaire kind of moment.

The first pages of To The Lighthouse pass under my eyes but despite rereading the same page over four times my mind wanders.

I want my city back but it means living with strangers, living a lie. I thinly convince them I can pay the rent through my amazing circus career and not the tax credits it really is from this book none will read.

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The Cello Swing Extract

Here is an extract from my first ebook ‘The Cello Swing.’ It is written as a series of vignettes and diary entries written in a handmade book from a circus teacher to his reclusive student.

Aimee, my sulky little clown,
Do not think I make a habit of thieving girls diaries, I’ve not much interest in others words. Your bag had fallen off the sofa while you were in the changing room and as I bought this little tome for you I figure I half have permission to add a few words or two. So I am going to write you this, it is a love letter to a cello…
Tonight you played so low, deep with a wooden belly full of echoes. A trapeze hangs low and on it a girl dances. Your sound swells this hollow place and I hold my breath as the trapeze starts to swing. The girl swings upside down where she thinks nobody can see. The bow hits the strings and her fingers scrape the floor.
She told me she won’t dance anymore but you let her swing. Beside you she tries to fly. Under your music I hear something like a laugh, a sob. She swings and dances and we are all lost to her. I watch her finally, longingly dance again.
You will fall silent and she will hang still. I share a glance with the musician as her circus heart soars.
You sound so low, far down. I watched the trapeze girl swing low. I sit still on a high, high trapeze and my love to her falls, so far out of reaching her. I watch her between those ropes of mine and this clown’s heart feels old.
Sleep well tonight, rehearse again tomorrow, and let the crowds come watch you too. X

The Cello Swing

The Cello Swing is my debut novella that I have just revised and uploaded to http://www.lulu.com. The original was lost in the denizens of other books on Amazon but something happened recently that made me want to share it again.

More then two years was spent writing on location and scavenging out the tightest streets of London. When I walked the city alone I imagined walking along side the cellist, the dear old clown.

Last week I found myself in an attic a stones throw from the hidden streets that feature in the tale. The Dome of St Paul’s cathedral filled the view of the little window and I thought of the cellist.

My own circus teachers and trapeze have soured away, most definitely and sullenly over.

You can purchase the book here
http://www.lulu.com/shop/l-m-weaver/the-cello-swing/ebook/product-21349891.html

If anyone would like a copy to blog or review please get in touch.

The Cello Swing

The Cello Swing is my debut novella that I have just revised and uploaded to http://www.lulu.com. The original was lost in the denizens of other books on Amazon but something happened recently that made me want to share it again.

More then two years was spent writing on location and scavenging out the tightest streets of London. When I walked the city alone I imagined walking along side the cellist, the dear old clown.

Last week I found myself in an attic a stones throw from the hidden streets that feature in the tale. The Dome of St Paul’s cathedral filled the view of the little window and I thought of the cellist.

My own circus teachers and trapeze have soured away, most definitely and sullenly over.

You can purchase the book here
http://www.lulu.com/shop/l-m-weaver/the-cello-swing/ebook/product-21349891.html

If anyone would like a copy to blog or review please get in touch.