What Would St. Valentine Say?

Source: Etsy - "Looking for Love" by Irene Suchocki

On a day famed for heart-shaped chocolate boxes and Hallmark-card-shaped sentiments of love, I just wanted to post a little quote from John Steinbeck about love and how it can manifest itself in different forms:

"There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you — of kindness and consideration and respect — not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had."

A Sketch In Time

It is with profound apologies that I start off yet another post with a meteorological reference; being able to think about, philosophise on and frame whole conversations around the weather is a quality that, I believe, pervades through the collective psyche of Brits...

***

I was gently stirred awake last Saturday morning - at around 8:30 am; a time too hideously early to even contemplate waking up - by a multitude of minute pinpricks of sunshine glinting intensely through a gap in the curtains. After briefly rejoicing internally about this unexpected burst of light and letting flimsy, frivolous thoughts of picnics in the park - and other activities that are dusted off and brought out, ready to punctuate sunny days - fill my mind, I rolled over and went back to sleep... I suppose concocting the idea of whiling away a sunny day can be more fulfilling - and tiring, it seems - than the actual reality; no matter how ephemeral said idea is in comparison.
Things that aren't ephemeral, but still manage to retain that delicious "one-off" quality akin to a photograph - capturing and conserving precious memories or particular moments in time - have been filling my mind ever since. 
Spurred on by the fact I haven't undertaken an independent art project - not even the smallest of sketches, nor the most inconsequential of collages - in a long, long while; and inspired by the stunning works of Nigerian Londoner Kelvin Okafor (found on the Mail Online, which prompted this thought: "Oh! So The Daily Mail's website is good for something..."), I spent (read: wasted) a handful of hours (read: approximately 15 hours) sketching this rather captivating photograph of The Rolling Stones' legendary frontman, Sir Mick Jagger; found in an old copy of The Sunday Times Magazine.
My scanner and I are not on speaking terms at the moment (read: my scanner is playing up, rather conveniently, at the most inconvenient times i.e. when I want to scan something...) and so, after scanning my work and the accompanying photograph,  I have had to mess around with the saturation because it was (and still is, to some extent)  over-saturated... or under-saturated - I am not entirely sure anymore.  
But, sometimes, the budding notion of trying to capture the ephemeral through a rather temperamental medium - a pencil sketch - can be just as important as the final, full-blown, tangible reality.

Out and About

In between periodical winter showers and snowfall - wrapping the streets of London up tightly, in a sublime blanket of silvery-white - I recall there being the odd few days of sunshine. Unfortunately, "days of sunshine" are far and few between in Britain - particularly during the winter months - and so, when such elusive days occur, I know I'm not the only one who tries to make the most of them. 
I purchased this rather wonderful Diana F+ camera from Lomography with some of my birthday money last year. For those who have not been acquainted with their extensive range of delightful and thoroughly quirky cameras and equipment, Lomography are the purveyors of analogue cameras and advocates of analogue artistry. I cannot recall how I first found out about them; I do, however, remember that it was a good few years ago and that I was instantly besotted with this Diana Mini...
I took the above photographs on one of the more "sunny" days of this month in Angel, Islington, (I use the word "sunny" incredibly lightly; I should really say "on a day when the sun wasn't really shining, nor was it particularly hot, but there were a few slithers of sunlight...") when I managed to haul myself out of bed, and go exploring and book-shopping.
As I post this, the sun (again - what little there was of it to start with) is descending across London. And according to many a weather forecast, there will be no more snow - well, not for this week, anyway! Not that I'm complaining...

Begin Again

Acclimatising to the differences and demands of a new year has never been easy for me. Though I always try to look forward to what the next twelve months of the Gregorian calendar may bring, sometimes it's a lot easier to look back - enjoying memories rooted in the past, that have shaped the present and may, or may not, shape one's future.

At the moment, I am struggling to write. Well - to be more precise - I am struggling to write anything I would deem "of worth". So, it just feels apt to chart a small part of my development as a writer - hopefully that should induce inspiration, banish back-to-school-blues (I return to school tomorrow...) and, moreover, stop me from being so darn hard on myself.

My beloved Year One Writing book

I suppose I am my own best and worst critic; in the sense that only I really know what it is I want to convey within my writing, so the guidance I provide myself will be, more or less, perfectly catered to me and my project, as opposed to a general rule provided by an external influence. But, of course, I never really feel that there is any merit to my writing; positive comments, commendations and complements are all lovely and greatly appreciated, but they only seem to prick the epidermis - they never sink in. And so I push myself, and push myself, and push myself -  in the hope that I will become a better writer and, also, in the hope that I will have an epiphanic moment in which I see my writing with fresh eyes; see it as others see it and, perhaps, see it positively.

I must apologise for rambling so extensively (more extensively then usual!) and for not posting any substantial, "meaty" - even - posts with an element of fashion, style or art within them for a while. I have become quite the neglectful blogger...again! This whole matter of "being-unable-to-write", mingled in with my almost incessant exhaustion, has been far from wonderful. 

But what has been wonderful is the continued support The Den has received throughout the course of 2012 and, now, 2013. Every page view, comment and follow means so much to me - even when, much like now,  I'm so inexplicably tired and in this frustratingly apathetic state. 

I would love to round-off on a more positive note - perhaps about exciting upcoming posts or some exciting plans of mine. But I can't; I don't have any plans - exciting or otherwise -  and The Den has been kept and, to some extent, will continue to be kept on the back-burner until I feel more like me

On The Twelfth Day of Christmas...

...my true love/mother/father/older sibling/benevolent and deep-pocketed stranger (delete as appropriate) gave to me...

...a Grafea "Show Business" Rucksack.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all you lovely folk who have been reading The Den over the course of 2012 - I'm ever so grateful! Now go and overindulge in Quality Street and mince pies!