Wells – bexODESSA

Ringless in Rome

Rome 2024

I only take my engagement ring off for two reasons – to slather goop in my hair to stop it looking boofy, and to massage. Sitting in Gatwick Airport, Rome-bound and ringless, rather than assigning its absence to one of these ring-removal activities, I deduced it must be in my backpack and rifled through it for 3 hours. Aside from the sickening feeling of losing something precious, I feared my fella would think I intended touring Rome as a single lady. But he reassured me that my ringless vibe was more spinster than single-lady, so he wasn’t worried at all. By the time I got to Rome, he’d found my ring (in my massage room) so all is right with the world again.

I have just woken on my first day in Rome to the happy singing of birds. To right they’re happy, they’re in Rome! I arrived late last night, so haven’t seen anything yet, aside from the whizz of lights from the taxi and splendor of the building I am staying in.

This fine establishment is the British School at Rome. I am here for a 4 day research look-around for an art project I’m working on. Typically, one comes to Rome to see the Colosseum and where the Pope lives, but I’m here to look at wells and bones and eat the food (which my fella prepared me for by taking me to M&S to buy some big pants for the trip)

later…

It’s now bedtime and I am utterly exhausted after Romeing all day, so long story free of waffle:

The communal school breakfast consisted of cream filled pastries (phew for the big pants!) washed down with divine coffee and great conversation with the other students, including my lengthy descriptions of the wells I am researching (they were so fascinated, Mathew!).

I went to see a well on Tiber Island, which is about 40mins away, but took me 4 hours cause I kept stopping off at the Bassicallcas (fancy for churches) on the way, including one that has a holy well, the water of which you can drink, which I did, and got the trots, and narrowly avoided disaster.

There was also a Basilica called Nicola something, that I had to go in because I have a lovely friend called Nicola. I am very glad I did because it had underground goings-on you could visit, which included a niche with bones.

I felt a bit misty-eyed when I made it to Tiber Island. The Tiber River is beautiful, as is the bridge I crossed, which is the oldest in Rome. I did think of taking the steps down to the river and have a little wander along the toe-path, but a massage client warned me that nefarious types hang out by the river, and sure enough there was a group of scruffy-looking people hanging out down there, though whether they were nefarious or not I couldn’t say.

On the Island, I visited a Bassicallca that was built on the site of the Temple of Asclepius (the god of healing), a place where you’d go to be healed by dogs licks, chicken sacrifice, and sleeping in a snake-filled room order to dream of your cure. The Basilica houses a well that was once fed by an underground spring that was around in the time of the temple.

I then went to the old Jewish quarter and had a lunch of wine and pepper pasta, which, though delicious, I came to regret when the trot situation loomed. But I ate it all in ignorant bliss and amused myself by reading about wells.

I then visited the Great Synagogue (phenomenal!) and museum, and was going to have a leisurely walk back to school, stopping for coffee and cake along the way, but it soon became clear that wells and bones and the Great Synagogue would be the least memorable things about my first day in Rome if I didn’t get back lickety-split. Getting terribly lost added to by woes, but the 5 different strangers I asked for directions, meant I returned with my dignity intact.

Exhausted by my shenanigans, I lay down for a bit, then tarted myself up (aka put anti-boof cream in my hair) and went to a lecture the school was hosting. Oh and it was no ordinary lecture! The guest speaker was Mark Rothko’s son. It was fascinating and touching in equal measure.

Then there was a big communal dinner, with amazing food, great company, and plenty of talk about wells.

Preparation is key

CSM MFA - Progress Blog, Painting, Research Project

Abraham Lincoln once said:

Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.

Most of my studio time this week was spent trying to figure out how I want to approach the painting for my research project. The canvas is primed and ready, but before I start I have to figure out how I mean to go on. To do this, I have been staring at the blank canvas, rummaging through the paintings I have done so far on the course, practicing techniques, reading books related to the topic of the painting, researching the life of the central figure of the painting, visiting the locations where the event to be depicted took place, going for long walks to spark my imagination, and taking naps in the hope the sleep fairies give me ideas.

Through all of this, a consistent image has been coming together as to the general layout of the painting. But the particulars and details will only emerge during the process of painting it. Normally when I conceive of a big painting, I have everything mapped out, and more less know where I am going with it, and what it will look like when I am finished. Approaching this painting with so many unknowns, and being willing to let it emerge organically, relying on instinct rather than design, is very scary.

The whole reason I wanted to do this masters course was to be challenged in my practice and gain the courage to attempt a new type of painting, so I only have myself to blame for my current predicament. I suspect once I start the painting, I will love the process. I am going to give myself a few more days of prep work (as above), and will begin the painting when my fella and I return from Scotland.

One person’s frog-drawing is another person’s procrastination

CSM MFA - Progress Blog, Research Project, Week in Review

I didn’t manage to write a post last week, as we had an assessment due which took up my writing time. Also, I’ve been whittling myself to a nub out here at Anam Cara, mostly trawling through online records, researching the subject of a painting I am planning for my final Research Project. It has to do with a well in Ballaragh, and a lady who ended up in it. It’s a fascinating story to research, with lots of avenues to go down. But while it’s thoroughly engrossing, it’s also very time consuming.

The best part of the research, is my fella taking me to the actual places where the events happened. I thought I’d found the well in question a few months back, and when my fella took me to revisit it this past weekend, I was astonished to see the someone is building a house on top of it. However, upon further research this week, it seems I may have been mistaken about its location, so we might have to do some more welling this weekend, which I’m sure will thrill my fella no end.

As well as welling, we had the opening for the Manx Museum exhibition recently. I meant to take lots of photos, but only managed some blurry ones of people standing around, such as this one of my fella holding my handbag, with my painting in the background.

Things have been a bit slow in the studio this past couple of weeks. I am very close to starting the painting for my final research project, in fact, the canvas is prepped and ready to go, I just have a few more test paints to do. I tell myself I am biding my time, but some might call it procrastinating, either way I have been drawing lots of frogs.

Plus, I painted this little fella the other day.

Geoff Day on Fire

CSM MFA - Progress Blog, Holidays, Painting, Research Project

For me, painting is an obsessive drive that consumes my every waking hour. If I’m not doing it, I’m thinking about it. It is no exaggeration to say my life revolves around my painting practice, the discipline of which is anchored down deep. Not only does my fella support my love of painting, he actively facilitates and protects it. Were it not for him, I’d be a lonely cat-lady with no cat, pushing my trolley around town with paint in my hair (I’m not kidding, that’s how he found me). Instead, I’m painting all day in a beautiful studio next to the sea, doing my MFA, and generally living a life I could previously only dream of. True, I still have paint in my hair, and don’t have a cat, but I am loved and warm and completely indulged, and am no longer in need of a trolley. Its a wonderful life, and I am thankful everyday that I get to live it.

Each week, I have a break from the studio (from Friday evening till Saturday evening), so Geoff and I can spend some quality time together. Geoff refers to this period as Bexapalooza, Bex-in-the-park, or simply Bexfest. That’s because we typically end up doing Bex-related activities, like visiting graves, wells, or my parents. By way of a counter-balance, every now and then we have Geoff Day – i.e. 24 hours of Geoff-related activities. When I say “every now and then“, I mean once every two years. That’s until last Friday when we had Geoff Day on Fire (after already having a standard Geoff Day in December). As we were celebrating his birthday as well, I wanted to make this Geoff Day extra special (hence the Fire), so I booked a night in a swanky hotel and organised some activities I knew he would like.

First on the list was a Trike Tour around the Isle of Man. Our particular tour was called “The Road Less Travelled”, which took us on the stunningly beautiful roads in the centre of the Island, while our tour-guide (aka our friend Simon) regaled us with tales of the grizzly murders and goings-on in the isolated cottages and farms along the way – like the son who ran-through his father with a pitchfork, over a quarrel about a cow. It was a fabulous tour, and we both thoroughly enjoyed it.

Next, we went boozing. I took my book in case the conversation got slow, and Geoff displayed his uncanny ability of making a raspberry mojito look manly.

Then it was back to the hotel for some wine and birthday presents, one of which was a fancy massage gun, which obviously needed testing, so I graciously obliged…after all, it was Geoff Day on Fire!

We then had a delicious dinner at the hotel’s Asian-fusion restaurant, after which we retired to our room. I’d like to say a great time was had by all, but I was struck-down with a migraine and kept Geoff awake all night with my fidgeting and moaning (of the “holy smokes my head is sore” variety). Added to which, the bathroom stank of raw sewage, due to the old-as drains that had likely not been changed since the Victorians were knocking about.

Geoff Day on Fire having already devolved into Bexfest, Geoff took us the long way home the next day, so we could stop off at a cemetery, and look for a well (both of which were involved in a story I am researching for a post-Interim Show painting). We then popped in and saw my folks for good measure. To show my appreciation, I let Geoff do something he’s been wanting to do since we met. That is, take me on his motorbike. He got a little choked up when I agreed to do it, as he’s never had a girl on the back of his bike before, only Phil and Belal. To be honest, I’m not a fan of motorbikes, on a account of all the dying, but I trust Geoff, and knew he’d ride sensibly. Still, I was terrified.

I’m pleased to say, I survived the ride, and Geoff survived another Geoff Day, despite the no sleep, residual smell of sewage that was burned into his nostrils, not to mention the grave-visiting, well-searching, in-law-seeing Bexapaloozing! I bet he can’t wait for the next one!