And I realised as I was writing that. Why did I never replace the bulb myself? Then I wondered, who was it that DID change it? And I realised... it was me! With my art journal. Yay! Me!

No one can make you an artist. The only person who can grant you that is YOU. I have a little story that illustrates the difference my art journal has made in my perception of myself as an artist.

Before...
There is a room in my mind with a small brass plate at eye level. It reads 'Art'. Opening the door, I can see that the one bulb has blown. I can't see how far back the room extend, but I cannot see the back wall. I am not stepping foot outside the light cast on the floor by the open door.  So I quickly grab a box from a nearby shelf and go. This time, it is a box labelled in careful script, 'Scrapbooking'. Another time, it was a trunk labelled, 'Quilting'.

After I opened my Art Journal...
I walk into the room and realise someone has put in a new bulb. The room extends for miles, and there is a stack of baskets by the door. I wander around in a happy daze.  I select a bit of  interesting fibre from the needlework section, some acrylic paint from the fine arts boxes, some printed vellum from the scrapbooking section, and something weird from an unmarked box I hadn't noticed before. Then I can go and PLAY.

Seriously, need to sleep more! Two dawns running is not good.

Chilling this morning, sorting out cookbooks, recipes, magazines, top-of-fridge-dwelling dust bunnies, listening to music. Later I am going to put together pretty flatpack bookshelves from IKEA that lovely, kind friend took me to buy and squeezed them magically into her hatchback.

Had a lonesome spell listening to Hawksley Workman. 'Don't Be Crushed' is the most heartbreakingly achey song ever. The Wallflowers came along and pulled me out of the depths with '6th Avenue Heartache' which always lifts me. Heard it the other night in Halifax airport too.