| I dream of
home a lot - visualising a slightly dusty, creaky wooden house with beautiful,
tattered furniture. I plan all the glass paintings that will make the windows
like stained glass and think of all the books I want in my child’s bookcase.
I dream of reading aloud to my family and friends by the fireplace. A slow,
countryside existence. I also dream of art college. Usually I picture myself hanging out with a friend or two in my room. There’s a cultured feel to the room which is cosy and personal. There’s a poster of Henry Miller, a worn couch with a rug thrown over it in front of the large window, framed sepia photographs of my ancestors, a large record collection on vinyl, many paintings - some done by me and some gifts from friends, a couple of clay figures, a bronze bust of Oscar Wilde, a cluttered but organised desk strewn with notebooks and piled high with papers, obscure and familiar books on the shelves, a few loose clothes in the same earth colours that gently warm the room, and a couple of traffic cones stolen on a recent night out. Other friends drift in and join us from time to time. We talk of forgotten genius and great stories we’ve discovered in the library. I study Literature, like my friend, and spend time doing sculpture and tailoring. There are so many arts I want to explore: painting, cooking, film production, writing, music, photography and graphic design. I visit classes for all of them. On quiet days I just go sit in a tree by the river and read. |
