The genius of being ordinary.


‘Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.’”      Goethe


My brothers went to Grammar school. When they got lines, ( a punishment of limited severity) they were forced to write one hundred times, ‘Punctuality is the pride of princes and procrastination is the thief of all time’. I loved the lyrical quality of the message and would hold it under my breath for decades. It’s still there, ready to be repeated at any opportunity. Anyway I have to admit to the terrible flaw that spreads like a fault line throughout the history of my life I do indeed procastinate. I alleviate the pain of that knowledge by the even more painful reality that the world does not care really. I don’t have the energy or the dedication that an artist needs to produce and produce and produce . To complete, throw away and start again. For every piece of art created there lies a detritus of discarded mush and the thing you need to be to be a really good artist is a thick skin. I think. I wouldn’t really know but I can hazard a guess that beneath every masterpiece is a river of tears; frustration, determination and perseverance having to win the battle fought out internally with doubt and reservations. So when I look upon a work of art, I remember that, and I am a little relieved that I am ordinary. There is a liberation in not holding genius by the hand, a beautiful , unsung delight in the quietitude of ordinary. I will always admire those that complete their service, the dedication to a pursuit, and thank goodness there are those who do; my life is that much richer for them. But Goethe was correct, and I lack the boldness, the genius and the power.  I won’t stop taking photo’s though, and making all the pictures , putting words together; it is a compulsion of a woman with the privilege of time to do it .



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