Art and life

As yet no heat wave has arrived to enervate the general populace, although countless thousands were apparently driven from the beach of Bondi the other day when it seemed that a shark had been spotted. This did not worry me, as I stay away from such beaches, as being too far away, too geographically challenging, and there is nowhere to park, except at truly hideous expense. I may, if the weather heats up unduly, take a bus and plunge into the waves. But at present it is cool and pleasant, and in general I am sitting around doing Nothing Much. It is not all bad. This can't last: there is sure to be a heatwave, and at such times it would be good to be able to hibernate in a nicely cooled and comfortable chamber, without running up cooling costs too much.

However, when I watch the foreign news, there does seem to be a far more unpleasant superabundance of snow, ice, rain, cloud, and tempest, so I must not complain. Far from it: it is pretty OK here. So far.

This morning when I got up and dressed, the question of what to wear vexed me for some little time.  I take some time to such matters, and choose with care. Now that I am thinner, many of my old clothes fit me again, so it is just as well that my tendencies and commitment to conservation discouraged me from from too much chucking out of clothes, on the mere basis that they don't fit me. As it is, there were some clothes discarded which I deeply regret.

These deep philosophical musings having been put aside, more urgent questions arose. Should I wear a T-shirt? A short-sleeved blouse? A sleeveless dress, or what? Eventually I made the usual rest of the year choice of my black stretchy pants. But what should go on top? Long sleeves, short sleeves, cotton or what? I chose a short-sleeved blouse.When I got downstairs and checked the ambient air a little further, it seemed a jacket might be a good idea. Thus, armed against (almost) all eventualities, I caught the bus to the Art Gallery, to meet a friend, to view together an exhibition of the art of Francis Bacon and then to lunch.

This took several hours of careful viewing. It was a good exhibition, well-curated, and I knew little of Bacon's work, but his art is not to my taste. I had realised that I tend to dash around exhibitions rather too quickly and carelessly, so took my time and looked carefully. It was impressive, but I still do not like it. However, one of my New Year's resolutions is to take more time and trouble over art and books, and to play and listen more carefully to my numerous CDs. This should help to keep me off the streets, eh?

The gallery was very cold, and so the jacket stayed on. I called in at the local library on my way home and came away with yet more reading matter. And a copy of the local rag, which featured a story and photo of the knitting and crochet group. The librarian had kept copies for us all. God bless librarians, say I.

Which reminds me that one of my purchases from the market this Sunday was a slender volume called It's my party and I'll knit if I want to. Such thoughts must be applauded.

Enough of such babbling. I must go back downstairs and read a bit more.

Actually, one question that occurred to me as I looked at Bacon's pictures was whether he bad eyesight?  And if so, did he use such a defect creatively? Does anyone know?