Framing the past

bird

I had bought a couple of cheap frames while I was in town  Inevitably, as it was a spur of the moment purchase, they were the wrong size for the paintings I intended to frame, but, with the thought of the boxes of old scribblings and paper piled in the corner upstairs, a trip to the studio might produce something.

Now, let’s be fair. Although I paint and have a room grandly referred to as the studio, in actual fact it is the simple luxury of a tiny back bedroom now vacated by the last of the fledglings. It is space I inherited from my younger son and the luxury of a room little bigger than a cupboard cannot be overstressed when canvasses the size of a small county have, hitherto, been painted on an adapted deck chair in the living room, getting in everyone’s way and making dinner taste inevitably of turpentine and varnish.

It is ironic, of course, that I finally have this space to use uniquely for painting yet, when I do paint, I tend to bring the whole lot downstairs so I can spread out, oblivious of the mess or the turpentine flavoured coffee as there is now only me and the dog…and she will curl up quietly under the easel wherever it is. It is the only time she does.

yellow lightThe piles of boxes hold sketches and pads full of stuff going back years…decades. I keep meaning to go through them and throw the rubbish away, which would be most of it to be honest, but I never get round to it.

For years they were shoved into the attic to make way for an ever increasing household as my own children grew, stepsons, their children and dogs took over the small house. In relative silence I stood by as more and more of the things by which I thought I identified myself… books, paintings, photographs and memories from the past… were pushed to one side to make way for others and the necessities of daily life.

I imagine many people will identify with this if they think about it, in some form or another. It may be that personal pleasures and hobbies are foregone in order to fund things for the children. Time, energy and opportunity are spent where the priorities and necessities lie. And at some point most of us turn round and wonder who on earth we have become, because it sure as hell isn’t who we thought we would be.

It took me a while, of course… half a century or so… to really pinkgrasp that the ‘things’ don’t matter. They do not define me, simply remind me of times, places and people I have known. They may reflect my tastes or my efforts, my experiences or my hopes and dreams. But they are not me. They are not the experience, the person, the place or the dream. They are not even the memory. They are just things. Precious by association, meaningful because of memory, irreplaceable sometimes, but they only describe or reflect, they do not define.

And I have a feeling that once you come to that realisation, you are able to let everything go. I’m not suggesting a mass bonfire of memories and photographs here. I mean simply that you can enjoy them for what they are, triggers for memory, reflections of dreams…things you own, but which do not own you.

I was torn between cringing and chuckling at the awfulness of some of the things I had kept in those piles of papers.  But I found a few to frame. Not because they have any artistic merit at all, but because they remind me of a journey I have been taking all my life to bring me to today. They remind me that I have had the courage to try something new, to experiment, to play and explore, to laugh at myself, to not be afraid of mistakes or failure, because they teach us more than success, every  time.

So I framed past failures and hung them on the wall. And do you know something? They still make me smile.

treedancer

15 thoughts on “Framing the past

  1. I’d hate anyone to read my early scribblings notebooks and diaries stashed away in the attic but on the rare occasions I come across them they make me cringe and smile in equal measure. Cringe for how dreadful some of it is but smile because the words I committed to paper way back then are part of my journey. One day I WILL have a bonfire for it all, but not yet.

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    1. The story is simple, Chryssa, many of the paintings I have kept were the start of teaching myself to paint… and a way to get ‘out’ of the house when my late partner was in his last illness. Looking at the both the tightness and freedom in many of them, I can see my own state of heart reflected… as well as a lack of skill 🙂 Happy new year to you 🙂

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  2. I too am at a stage of perhaps, understanding that things do not define us and perhaps it is time to have a clear out. However, i am blessed or not, by having BPD (borderline personality disorder) and according to the categories that they have places BPD suffers in, we have attachment issues. Well, that is certainly true and I have seen me sobbing over things and not being able to let them go. I am learning though, baby step by baby step. Love the paintings, esp the last one. He is fantastic.

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  3. I think looking through past work, even if cringe-worthy, helps us see how far we have come, which can be gratifying. I guess perhaps that’s why you chose to frame a few? Along the opposite line, I’ve read through old journals and think, “Haven’t I figured this out yet?” ha-ha! Some hurdles seem impossible to overcome!

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    1. Sometimes it astonishes me how bad the early stuff is… sometimes I’m astonished at what the younger self seemed to know… from nowhere. It can be good to visit the past… it just isn’t a place to live 🙂

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