|The Cha Cha that was danced in the Early Hours of 24th March 1961- David Hockney|
I spent the last eight days in Cornwall with my parents. There's nothing to do except look at the lighthouse, go on long sea walks and read; I just finished Wilde's Picture of Dorian Gray and Fitzgerald's Tender is the Night.
On the second-last night I sat on a wall by the sea and there was a blood moon, it was a scarlet-orange and gradually rose in the black sky, becoming yellow and bloated.
Half of my face is sunburnt because I was listening to all the David Bowie on my iPod on a rock for hours by the sea and didn't realise how hot it was.
Now I'm back in London and everything's cement and drills outside my window and the city is sticky and humid.
|Man in the Shower, Hockney|
His early less figurative work is so lovely and I am trying to take inspiration from his use of words and codes in my sketchbooks so no one can interpret them when I scan them on the internet. (lol)
I'm also getting work experience at a contemporary art gallery next month which is going to be so lovely-when I walked past it the other day they had a Hockney painting and some Lynn Chadwick sculptures so it's 100% gna b gr8~
I got to go to the private view of the British Museum's new exhibition recently, too. It surrounds the topic of the Greeks "Defining Beauty" and it was so aesthetic and beautiful-not to mention the appeal of the ideas it was based on- just rooms and rooms of pearly white marble statues. I tried to draw some but elderly couples kept walking up behind me and breathing loudly so it was slightly off-putting and I didn't really succeed. But if ur in London u should all go.
My sketchbooks are getting progressively worse but that's ok perhaps because at least I'm still making them? Urgh I'll get better soon please bear with it.
|I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.|
|I do not think that they will sing to me.||125|
|I have seen them riding seaward on the waves|
|Combing the white hair of the waves blown back|
|When the wind blows the water white and black.|
|We have lingered in the chambers of the sea|
|By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown||130|
|Till human voices wake us, and we drown.|
|-TS ELIOT / Prufrock|