....so carrying those thoughts I go to work. Making four single beds at present in ash and yew as part of the ongoing set. The hobbyist knows the pleasure of losing oneself, the flow, abandoning self consciousness, the zen state, whatever you want to call it. What they may no less of is the sheer space to think one has in a physical craft occupation. It is really only when an activity is right at the peak of ones ability that you get that loss of self that sees no awareness of ones worries. An off road cyclist may get it speeding down hill, avoiding sudden obstacles, no time to contemplate, but back on the empty road the thoughts return. You get a lot of time to think as a maker.
Fred invited me over so, in a bid to shake off Bigley and Armstrongs ghosts, and to free my head of the spiritualists nasty prayers, I drove over to Pewsey. I know the route deeply. I drove over every day to work there but a dozen years have passed since then. Icicles clung to bridges, snow covered fields. That first rush you get from a snow fall relieves after a few days and the bright, dulled lack of colour pervades.
In the workshop there he was glueing up with a new apprentice. Fred always has some youth around. He must have helped many in to that creative world, as he did me. I noticed off cuts, saved from the woodbin, atop his tool cabinet, from some chairs we made together. New jigs and parts. Models of fresh ideas in the pipeline. Josh took me upstairs to see his experiments. A student on Gareth's course last year, he is helping Fred, and himself there for a while. Fred's pattern makers chest of drawers was there. I've seen it in photographs many times but never in the flesh. He's got it back for a while after it appeared in his retrospective at the crafts study centre. Fantastic grey machine, Fred Baier 1975 in metal lettering on its top surface. Loads of memories of working there. He retains a belief in something that has faded in me. But I admire him for that. When I get started on some mad cap piece I usually have a day where common sense prevails and I have to admit the idea may be misguided. It is retaining the faith in the mad idea and continuing the idea till fruition that separates him. Gareth has this too. Now teaching three days a week in brighton he is finding commissions in London that the small band of fashionable London designers are asked to submit ideas for. Great to see Lucy, great to see matt. Nothing much is different, still a beautiful world they operate in.
Driving back the snow began to fall. Traffic experimented with differing techniques to overcome it. Lucky to get home safe.
I saw some programme about young poor lads trying to get on in the world. One went to Bournemouth college. His accent was all wrong. I know well meaning, kind people who are oblivious to the class language barrier. This one lad was like a chinaman in London, mean but without the language nor the keys. In introductory lecture told prospective tudents how much it would cost. How they could borrow from their parents. It is a pretty impregnable world if you don't know the rules. I can't help but see this. It is no level playing field. I try not to go on about class, and it isn't everyone, but there is something that disgusts me in those who seek separation. By the vanity of small differences they find vindication of their superiority. Move away. Above. Don't let your kids play there. Here, in frome,everyone is pretty posh so the issue rarely comes up. There is one woman mind, who I just can't figure. Some days she smiles, some days looks down at me. What are your rules, middle class lady, tell me then I will know. Those lower middle class, who's self definition comes through separation from those they see as their past, or as below them, are beyond my disgust.
But it isn't to say that there is working class harmony. I go home and am seen as above my station. "what's up with you?" they say, "swallowed a dictionary?" the assumption that any success is arrogance. The deliberate stupidity. The determination not to learn. Some people watch too many of those romanticised films about northern loyalty, the full monty etc. truth is, it's pretty crap having no money. Your friends hate you if you become successful, they take it as an affront to there way of life. It's better scavenging from the middle class table than scrabbling about in the bins. They call me a yuppie back home, just because I work..The working class can be bad too.
Things are ok at the moment. Plenty of work. Currently no need to go back to teaching. One day a week is the most you can do if you want to make seriously.
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