Masky, masky, masky.Made masks with a bunch of actors today, and two lovely friends Catherine and Tanya. How lucky am I? Doing something I love, learning, spending time with good people, making things. I love watching people making masks. Mask-making is such a tactile pleasure.
It starts with plaster casting a real face - had the pleasure of that with Catherine this morning. It's such a nurturing, calming act, gently applying plaster of paris bandages to a person's face, or lying there having it applied. It involves trust - for a while, you lie there with nothing but your nostrils out, so you can breathe. You have to grease your eyelashes, or they get held onto by the plaster and they come out. You have to grease your whole face, of course, but the eyelashes are the bit that it's easy (but unwise) to forget.
Then you mix creamy plaster of paris to pour in and set. It sets smooth, smooth, hot and heavy. In your face. Your actual face that you've just made. An extra face. Kind of a death mask, as you have your eyes closed, but very, very pleasing. Almost as pleasing, once it's out, as the act of pulling off the plaster mould. Touchy, lovely sensations.
I love that if Catherine gets pulled over in her car on her way home, she'll have a little face-only version of herself in the boot. And Tanya travelled home with her drying mask in her hands.
There's vaseline at every stage. On your face before the cast, in the cast before you pour, on the cast before you clay, on the clay before you papier mache. Oh, papier mache. Yes, yes, yes. Little strips of paper that you have to 'distress' to break down the fibres a bit and make them soft. Dip them in gloop/papier mache juice - a mixture of pva glue, flour and water, in this case, and smooth it on. It's so sensually pleasing.
Making anything in clay is pleasing too, but when it's a face, a human face, there's something maternal that springs up. Everyone in the room seemed attached to their mask, even those that felt it wasn't going well. And those that were enjoying it anyway? It's quite hard not to use a pet name for a mask - I favour 'sweetheart'. Lydia was fixed on 'baby'. It's totally natural. This is your creation. You love it. You bring it into the world. You spend 4 hours stroking its face and making it smooth. Call it what you like - it's yours.
It was an early start. No pond, but a walk to Acton Park to see a little bit of sunrise and get some air (some dogs, some nature, some instant glee). The park is still autumnal, smelling rich and full or golds and browns. I saw a tall, lean Jack Russell stalking various pairs of magpies. Very sweet (and entirely ineffectual).
After that, a coffee to help me wake up. I bought it from the nice Turkish men in the Station Cafe. On the way past, both there and back, CostCutter man stood in his shop waving and smiling until he couldn't see me any more. And the Turkish coffee man who's just given up sugar, after expressing his disgust at the very thought of Muswell Hill, made nice expressions of 'come back when you're here'. That kind of thing.
And then a truly ninja day. Catherine drove us to Muswell Hill (having driven down from St. Albans in the first place) and helped me move the bulk of my stuff. Thank you thank you thank you. Such a massive help. We had coffee and biscuits and laughing with lovely Ruth. I can't actually repeat the bassoon-related thing that made us all howl, but once again, I had the pleasure of watching Ruth's laughing face, which fills me up with glee.
Back, through traffic. Face mould. Hairy junction. Lucky parking spot. Cheap Chinese and pop. Maaaaasssssskkkksss. And then back here for a bit of washing up, a dose of The Omen (why? why not? why?) and blogging. Why have I put off writing my blog until I have to rush it? I love it. More than I can say. I love doing it so much. Even the things I love, I put off at least a little bit. Maybe staying at Ruth's and possibly not having internet late at night will force me to do it earlier in the day, and be more organised. We shall see.
So, outside, as I write (it's late - it's always late - not sure how that will work when I move as the wifi is normally off late at night... hmmm)... outside in Acton, a man is beating on a door, repeatedly shouting 'Open the fucking door, you cunt!' to a woman inside. He's really putting emphasis on that last word.
Now, I'm concerned, especially when he shouted 'I'll smash you up, you bitch'. This is not a nice man, or if he has the capacity to be one, he's not doing it right now. Nor is he a clever man (same qualification about his capacity to be so). Love, of all the strategies to get you in, that's among the weaker ones, I'd say.
It's not funny. The reality of this situation is ugly. I'm sorry that man is in that woman's life. If it wasn't real, however, if it was possible to divorce that truth from the words themselves, would it be okay to laugh? Is this the moral side of gratitude, or of noticing the things that can be appreciated even in situations that can't. Is it okay to laugh? Not at the situation, but at him? Answers on a postcard. Preferably stuck through his door.
Oh god, it's time.
So many more things: a lovely evening with Kate last night. The delicious problem of feeling sad to be about to miss someone, but going back to spend more time with someone else you've missed. I value both of them very much. Tesco people making me laugh. 3 cool kids at customer service. The two boys put neutral masks on after seeing them in my bag. Mainly because the (very pretty) girl talked about them. She has masks like that, she says, because she's a dancer. Can't believe i didn't ask her more! But I love that people offer up their stories so easily, or the things that excite them.
Sarah Dawrant, again, thank you. And Sandison - it's been a day. I've missed you.
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