The House of Dreams

So, one week in of my “blog every week” resolution, I have fallen behind.  In my defence, it is only by a couple of days and I do have a very good excuse.  Last week, my dear little netbook decided that it had suffered from enough use and abuse over the years and had a small meltdown.  Luckily it was only a minor mid-life crisis and, having spent a weekend recovering in rehab and sitting through lots of therapy (thanks to my friend Emina and her other half), it is now pretty much recovered and, assuming the next half an hour or so goes without a hitch, functioning as normal.

Ah, so that's where I left my right leg...

I must admit, the prospect of not being able to write over the weekend did send me into a bit of a panic – not only did I want to keep up with the weekly blogging and novel writing but I had planned to send out an electronic newsletter too (now postponed until next weekend – watch this space!)  But I soon got over it and had a very pleasant weekend feeling fairly relaxed and – dare I say it? – content.

You see, I think I am starting to see the light.  After a fraught few months I have bemoaned my plight to enough people (guys – sorry!) to start to get my head around it all.  I knew something had to give – but I wasn’t sure what.

Then, after a smashing cup of tea with Dr Emina on Saturday afternoon, I went down to East Dulwich to visit The House of Dreams Museum – an art installation by artist Stephen Wright.  Over the last 15 years, Stephen has been turning his home – as in the bricks and mortar of his house – into a visual diary.  Visually inspired by places including Mexico and Barcalona and spiritually guided by the bereavement of not only his partner but both his parents within a ridiculously short amount of time, his home has become a record of his life.  The ground floor of his terraced house has been consumed by the project, which has now spilled into both the back and front gardens.  Stephen describes only one room as “complete”, but each and every room has become a mosaic of seemingly randon items thrown together (yet every last bottle top, doll’s head and vinyl record has some significance to the artist) to create a space radiating with energy.

Needless to say I was blown away by the place – and massively curious to learn more from the artist.  We chatted whilst I marvelled, mostly about the museum (which the National Trust will take over once complete) but also about our creative processes – and what stood in the way of them.  Full of inspiration and slowly realising that something was going badly wrong in my own artisitc life, I headed to the Southbank for a walk before I met my friend – and for a good long think.  By the time I got to Vauxhall, it was all starting to make a bit more sense – and I felt like I could breathe a little bit easier in the knowledge that thing could – and would – get better.

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So, after an afternoon in the “waiting room” eating a roast dinner, drinking beer and chatting mainly shite, I headed home last night with my little digital friend, feeling a little lighter, a little brighter, and very relieved.  Which just goes to show, having some time out once in a while can be much more productive than you realise.

Stephen – I’ll be back next time I feel my self wavering.

Oh, and if you were wondering, I wrote the above four days ago... yup, the netbook got sick again.  Luckily Beth came to my rescue and leant me hers over the weekend - thanks love!