Prologue

I was late to the party, as always, some other thing that had to be done. I'd tackled retirement with my usual rituals, made a few runs at it, coming at it from one side or another, and finding that this attempt or that attempt didn't suit me, shied away from it again.

On holiday for a week or two, I like it, gradually catching up with things, ticking off my list, not rushing, just today do this, or that would be a good day to do that, driven, in part, by the weather, deciding when I can get outside to do this or that job.

The big transition and future proofing plans are underway. The changes to the house - a bigger kitchen and a ground floor, additional, shower-room, a closed off living room that could become a bedroom later. Accessible switches. The back porch, shaded and ventilated, perfect for hot weather, muddy boots, seedlings.

Work, too, has been corralled. A new contract on a different footing that allows for a graceful withdrawal, aided by the accountants on both sides asking how this is going to work, eliminating any possibility of disguised employment. An end date, explicit to everyone, no hiding or pretending it isn't there. Everything in place to manage the transition.

A new tiny home about five miles from the sea, a co-working space, a group who like to explore art and have a glass of wine. Old men pubs, a nearby village with an organic vegetable shop, the place seems to have changed in the past twenty years, caught up with the rest of the world. Fast travel to that London, if needed.

And Hive, sitting there quietly, the new rhythm of the four year Bitcoin cycle, like the ventricles of the heart, as one expands, drawing life in, another contracts, pumping life onwards. It's ups and downs like the ins and outs of lungs, each one part of the cycle, nothing and inevitable in themselves, signalling life, not catastrophe.

Life/Art

Hive has a lot to answer for.

It started with the NeedleworkMonday community, a group who shared a tag each week, talking about their love of making: knitting, sewing, crochet, sharing their lives, families, ups and downs, frustrations and successes, and always the rhythm of meeting on a Monday.

I was drawn in early, a newbie, found through tags, shepherded by @crosheille breathing life into community, driven by a vision. Knitting had been a distraction, a desire to move away from the boredom that Facebook had become (I had abandoned Twitter long before). In community, it took on a different life as I learned, experimented, played and failed.

Gradually something happened, something evolved as threads passed across and through my hands, a new feeling developed, I became immersed, lost in something, clock time suspended as I explored, the shadows moving on the walls as the day passed. I realised this was how I wanted to spend time: making.

In 2018, I went to see Picasso 1932: Love, Fame, Tragedy. Leaving aside the dilemmas of his life, the thing that was stunning was his output. And what I loved was, among the masterpieces, the breathtaking beauty of his drawing, were the experiments that hadn't quite worked, the ones that were slightly off, the constant inventiveness, trying new things, colours, styles, expressing intangible ephemeral ideas and concepts, feelings, ideas.

It was inspiring. I cried each time I went.

I couldn't take it in, I wanted to eat it.

The sculptures, created at the country studio at Boisgeloup, a chateau in Normandy, so many of them, serried ranks. The space required to make them.

I started my own tentative journey.

The house when it is finished will have a studio and a workshop. The workshop for the sculptures, the up and over door open when I'm working, looking out onto the road that passes the house, my vegetable patch beyond. The workbench is already there, the bay window letting in the north light.

Inside, the studio, maybe two, I haven't decided yet. The big upstairs room at the front, lots of light, space, for large canvases, an L-shaped extension for storage. Close the door at the end of the day. The big downstairs room, light, airy, quieter and cooler than the upstairs room.

I took a framework to help me on my way: Travelling Books.

I'm fumbling with those in this transition time, running to get each one out during the month, spending too much time on it (but not enough), over thinking it, and then remembering: it's making. Just make. Learn as you go.

Beyond that, formal art training. I've picked a masters in fine art at Goldsmiths. I've always had a soft spot for Goldsmiths and now I find, they have the course I want to do. I had an open day scheduled for last November, but UCU members were striking, it turned out. The day was cancelled, but I had already written to say I wouldn't be breaking the strike.

The main campus is in New Cross, south east London. I was looking forward to that. I love university libraries, the coffee shops and art works. But it turns out the fine art studios are in Deptford, an area I lived in for a few years when I was young.

Strange how life circles round, maybe I have to return to learn the lessons I missed then.

It takes four years to complete the course part-time. I want part-time, enough time to learn and reflect and be. I'll be seventy-five when I graduate. I like that.

Epilogue

A new community: Art. and
Co-Creation Sessions