Sitting on the of my school building, illicitly, sniffing the scent of summer flowers wafting over in the evening air, drinking a beer, trying to calm nerves. Fits and quaky moments are all part of this, though they didn't tell me this when I signed the contract. One can lose one's rag all too easily these days it seems, and become aware of how tender any presentation of one's creative output really is. This is just part of the natural course of things, and there's little time to dwell.
In a break a little girl across the road is standing on the pavement blowing bubbles, but they keep blowing back into her face. She repeats the action several times. Now: if she'd turn around and blow with the wind, not only would she have bigger bubbles (?) but they would also go very, very far. So little girl, turn around your head, get around the ideas that are fixed in your head and listen to the wind... tad-da-dat-tadah.
These are the words I tell myself on this day before the day before the presentation.
Then I jump up in a panic and think someone has taken my rucksack with my computer in it and my portfolio...(which I left somewhere else) and need a whole other cup of mint tea to calm down. There, there, dear. The ambulance is coming, don't worry.
It feels like I'm going to get my body measured by the fashion brigade and that I'll have to convince them that having a voluptuous 17th Century Rubenesque bottom is really the sexiest, most alluring thing to have these days - incidentally, scale and flesh is probably one of the best things about Rubens....but that aside - wish me luck. No time for patheticisms here, en avant pour la république, of stel je niet zo aan, is what I say to myself. Hupla. Everyone knows big bottoms are best. In fact there is nothing that I would rather be doing and I am feeling on top of the world.
Love to you both.