The annotated bedroom #1

For something different: photos! (of my bedroom)

The cream handbag belonged to my Nan. The Brown one, I think, was an op-shop find. They are hanging on my wall by a drawing-pin, which is holding up miraculously.

The first one had a strange crumbling mesh inside the lining which, years ago, I thought was asbestos. I had to get somebody to burn a piece until I was satisfied it was safe. Funny, but only now. I was fairly convinced I was going to die.

Books. One of my favourite things in the world. Better, certainly, than bags. On a par with a really good, well-scripted TV series by Alan Ball. Perfect taken with tea and a comfy armchair.

My dressing table. I could say something semi-profound and cliche like “my dressing table, which is representative of all things that get more beautiful with age.” But no. I just really like it.

I also like Sylvia Plath, despite the fact that it is faddish and morbid to like people like Sylvia Plath. Too fucking bad. She is amazing. And while The Bell Jar is terrible and morbid and tragic, it is also stunning and beautiful and truthful.

But there is another reason that I love Sylvia Plath’s work. And that is that after the experiences I have gone through this year, The Bell Jar takes on an entirely new meaning.

“To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream.”

I have been in that Bell Jar now. I know life as an unending nightmare. I know the stifling fear of being locked inside a world of terror.

“How did I know that someday – at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere – the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn’t descend again?”

And how do we, do I, does anybody? This fear is the fear that stays. Reminding, unable to be truly buried. These are the things that I think of, in my bedroom, on the train, at the coffee shop. Nothing has the certainty that I once took for granted. The solid world might shift and change at any moment under my own frightened gaze. This I know. This I understand. This I see, reflected back at me in Plath’s work.

If I keep up this series may well put “the bedroom philosopher” out of business! Except my musings aren’t quite as funny as songs from the 86 Tram.

Photography is fun

I haven’t had much of a chance to experiment with the Nikon D40 I bought from Marita yet, but today I got inspired and here are a couple of the results….

wonderful month ahead

  Ah, holidays!

Now that assessment is over and I can breathe again, I plan to get a bit better at blogging regularly (or for the next six weeks, at least)….

To start off, these are some collages I made out of the 1950s film star albums I got ages ago. This one didn’t work because of the wrong type of glue which made the paper bubble (boo) but with a bit of photoshopping, I thought it was worth posting anyway. 

The next one isn’t quite as pretty (perhaps it is the absence of Grace Kelly?) but so far I haven’t destroyed it with poor lacquering attempts.

My glorious holiday plans   include:

* Making more collages

* Attempting to alter numerous market/op-shop items on the sewing machine (hems, darts, pleats… I can totally do it!) 

 * Learning how to operate my lovely new Nikon SLR Camera (ditto)

* Getting a significant way through the epic movie list I have compiled with the help of Stuart, Jonathan, IMDB and various other recommendations. The list includes all of the films of Alfred Hitchcock and most of the films of David Lynch, plus a significant contribution from the action genre which I seem to have missed out on… much fun to be had! 

* Reading Lolita and The Sound and the Fury (I just finished A passage to India today, which I won’t comment on now because it deserves a whole post to itself…)

* The upcoming sibling holiday, which will include numerous games of Balderdash and probably much reminiscing, plus a trip to Canberra to see boyfriends friends (maybe my friends? hopefully). 

* A whole new level of domestic enquiry…  (just wait and see!)