Still stitching... just moved on to another two commissions and doing one with each hand.
(thats not true.)
Having a tea break - the third today, which includes lunch. Lunch was toasted cheese and salad sandwich with those yummy bean sprout things shoved inside.
Woke up with a bad neck despite yesterdays treatment :o think there is a draft in my room. Went to bed with wet hair ... a little silly in this chilly willy weather.
Appreciating the studio everyday... falling in love with it all over again. Difficult to believe I am leaving this building despite the relentless noise pollution from other studios where people seem to be deaf, their radios are so loud. Radio four gets unbearable when heard constantly through the floor boards and the presenters sound like they are underwater.
Then there's the repetitive tinny sound of 'Ryan's' letter box opposite , the local drug dealer. Regular, dull, fucked and thick shouts 'Ryan!' 'Ryan!' Wolf whistle, 'Ryan!' rap rap rap, 'Ryan!' Ryan!' tinny clink clink, bang bang bang! ' Ryan!' And the funny thing is because I am on the third floor and his flat is opposite and below, I can see Ryan in his bedroom ignoring the voices he cant be arsed with and occasionally sticking his head out of the window when he can and needs the deal, throwing the keys down. This happens every day , three or four times, sometimes for AGES! You wouldn't believe the tenacity of some of the addicts knocking on his door, sometimes in twos or threes.
Then there's the shouting and the fights down below of the local halfway house, homeless or hostel guys. Its a sad but daily affair in Stokes Croft, its normal here.
And then there's the bongo's.
The sodding bloody bongo beats. A new dance school opposite (and I am all for dancing!) has a very regular drumming group and the sound resonates through the area. Bongo and drumming sessions. At first, when it was new to the street, I felt a sense of elation and excitement as the beat and the rhythm got louder through the studio window. It gave the speed of my sewing seem more urgent and as if I was on some kind of rhythmic mission, at one with the summer beats and the vibrations of Bristol.
Three / four weeks later, they are relentless. I have developed a steady dislike for anything to do with drums. Two hours of drumming about three days a week is hard work - especially if you are not directly involved. I am slowly going mad.
And .... then.... to top it all off ... there's the stink from the loo. The constant third floor pongey phooey, pong that the land lord cannot smell or solve. I am actually kinda used to it but some days its so bad, its sweet.
Despite all, I am going to miss this place terribly.
Warts and all.
Me, the mad embroideress looking out over the action, stitching away, inspired by all of it.
Louella Tchaikovsky keeping it real.