My son David turned 18 on Saturday. In the blink of an eye he went from this gorgeous, gorgeous child.
To this six foot five eating, sleeping and mess making machine. David, whilst still totally gorgeous, is now legally allowed to drink in front of his mother as evidenced by the stubbie in his hand. Though he still has a bit to learn about building a proper fire. For the record the fire did actually go very well, once the tripod/teepee structure fell over.
Where has that time gone internet? I am now the mother of two adult children, both of whom have their own firm opinions and ideas about things. There is a wonderful freedom mixed with a great deal of sadness to know that I have successfully made myself redundant.
The title of this post is “A Galloping case of Inertia” A serious dose of the can’t be bothereds would also be an apt description of how I had been feeling all last week. June is a difficult month for me in that my children find June difficult. In 2009 we buried my mother on my son David’s birthday, it is a measure of how stressed I was by the behaviour of two family members that I agreed to bury Mum on that day. I should have waited, I should have hurried, I should have done a lot of things internet but what’s done is done and if wishes were horses I would own a circus.
With the emotional hangover of June still nipping at my heels, I have decided to focus on the other reason for my current sadness and inertia.
It has been brought to my attention that someone out there who happily swims in the crazy soup of internet nutters and like minded loonies has been busily emailing people warning them that “@frogpondsrock” is dangerous.
I understand that to some people, questioning the status quo could be a dangerous thing to do. I will freely admit to poking peoples sore spots on the internet. I will honestly say that naming a group of bloggers as remarkable, leaves the creator of that brandname open to mockery. I will loudly question the promotion of Nestle at bloggers brunches. I will state clearly and for the record that Manifestos in handy dandy graphic form make me roll my eyes so far back in my head that I fear for my eyesight.
I am not afraid to stand up and very publicly speak my mind. I am also contrary enough to take the opposite side of an argument just to see what happens.
What this anonymous emailer fails to understand, is that I do not have anything to gain by promoting the truth as I see it and I also do not have anything to lose. Maybe this combination does make me a tad dangerous to certain fragile souls, as it means I can stand on my soapbox in my corner of the internet and say whatever I damn well please.
I am only one opinion amongst the zillions of opinions in this crazy online world I inhabit and if you feel so threatened by my opinions then I feel very, very sorry for you.
I learned at the fist of my father to never stay down and to never shut up.
I have opinions and in a quirky twist of fate my opinions belong only to me and I honestly fail to see how my opinion can impact on any one else other than me.
I will repeat that one more time for emphasis, My opinions belong only to me.
And now I will move along to other more interesting subjects, like my ceramics and my photography.
I was trying to photograph my work, I am not a technically minded photographer. I forget what f-stop I am supposed to use and I get my DOFs mixed up with my apertures and I honestly do not know what shutter speed goes with what. But I can tell you the exact temperature that small river rocks gathered from the banks of the Derwent river will begin to fuse with ceramic bowls (1260 degrees)
But sometimes, internet, sometimes I capture a beautiful photo and this is one that I particularly like. The work has been stained with a red iron wash and is waiting to be fired to stoneware temperature. But it is the background of this photo that particularly appeals to me, the reflection in the door of the kiln is like a soft pastel still life and it pleases me deep within my soul.
Another pot waiting to be fired is this gift for a friend. The grey that you can see is a glaze which should turn out to be a deep blue/green gloss which I am hoping will work against the red/black matteness of the iron wash.
And yet more work waiting for me to turn off the computer and turn on the kiln. These are tiny little shallow pots that fit nicely in the palm of my hand. The daisy pattern was made by pressing a doorknob into a ball of soft clay, the other marks on the rim, come from bits of coral and other bits and bobs.
I would be lying if I said that the hate campaign directed at me didn’t hurt. But writing this post has helped me to see that one persons mud is another persons art and I have to ask myself how sad and insecure must this person be to be so obsessed by a middle-aged, mouthy mudslinger from Tasmania.
If I spent any significant time worrying about others opinions I would surely stop publishing so many blurry photos and start taking proper photos of proper things.