Watch The Birdie!

I've been struggling to decide what to write about this week, hence the slight delay. I could write about the painful experience of making myself go to my drawing class on Thursday, only to find halfway through that my inner critic had firmly taken over my brain, shouting obscenities about how rubbish I am and that I'll never be able to draw: I came home in tears. I could write about the led primary class that our yoga teacher gave on Sunday morning, complete with Q&A session about the traditional method of Mysore style Ashtanga, which was very inspiring and really got me thinking about trust, surrender, dedication and our intrinsic search for meaning in our lives.

I could write about all the bad news I've heard this week: people suffering from emphysema, lung cancer, a brain tumour; relationships on the rocks; people in pieces. Or about my job interview. Or about another song I wrote. Or I could write about a weekend away at my grandparents' which left me full of nostalgia, sadness and talk of wills.

But I won't. Instead I'm going to write about birds. Starlings to be precise. Over the West Pier in Brighton. If you've never seen this incredible spectacle, I urge you to take a walk along he promenade at dusk and just take a moment to observe what I can only describe as a stunning natural phenomenon. It really is a sight for sore eyes. Hundreds of tiny winged wonders dancing through the sky as a single, magical entity. They appear to glide effortlessly on the breeze, almost disappearing from view, then suddenly swoop off at top speed in a dark black cloud, as if someone's tugging an invisible string to which they're all attached. It rather reminds me of that scene in Finding Nemo when Nemo and Dory meet the shoal of fish. Any moment I expected the starlings to suddenly form themselves into an arrow or a grumpy face.

And it's not just me who finds this winter murmuration (ooh hark at me) so breathtaking. Hoards of people gather along the seafront to witness this acrobatic display and even the pigeons and seagulls know it's something of a special occasion and seem to want in on the action.

So, another busy week in the life of the Seaside Scribbler then, but the avian beauties win the vote hands (or should that be wings?) down. These birdies really are worth watching....

Resistance Is Futile

Ah, resistance. Don't you just love it? You know, when that annoying little inner critic screams at you that you're no good, you can't do it and you may as well just give up? I experienced this twice last week and am still suffering the consequences.

On Saturday I went to a yoga workshop in Brighton taught by a world-renowned yoga teacher, Bhavani Maki. She was giving 5 masterclasses over the weekend and I chose to attend just one of them, entitled "Becoming Grounded - Standing and Balancing Poses". Now, I've been practicing Mysore style Ashtanga yoga 5 mornings a week for 5 months now and, although I still consider myself a beginner, I do feel I've developed a certain amount of strength and flexibility in my practice. So I was looking forward to a nice 3-hour workshop concentrating on some of the standing postures and developing my practice in a new way.

But oh my God! This was the most intense yoga I had ever done and right from the beginning those whiny inner voices were shouting "I can't do this", "You're going to make me hurt myself", "I'm doing it wrong and you haven't even noticed". Of course I was blaming the teacher entirely; her unending enthusiasm and playful energy coupled with annoying Americanisms ("awesome", "that's great guys") just didn't cut the mustard for me or my foul mood that day. After my thighs and hips had been crying out in pain for what seemed like an eternity, and tears had begun to roll down my face, I decided enough was enough and walked out. Yes, I actually walked out. I don't think I've ever done that before but boy did it feel good!

I found out later that The Partner, who has been a practising Ashtangi for over 3 years now, also found the workshop incredibly demanding. That didn't stop him from attending all 5 of the masterclasses though - what a fool! My thighs and buttocks are still feeling the effects from Saturday so I can't imagine how his are feeling.

Wind the clock back 2 days and you find me in my Learning To Draw evening class. And oh yes, the resistance bears its ugly head again. But this time I give it what for and actually win the battle. So I'm sitting there, charcoal in hand, trying to draw the objects I've composed through my (rather shoddy home-made) viewfinder. And for the life of me I just can't get it right. The proportions are all wrong, nothing seems to fit together properly and I just can't bloody draw! I'm screaming inside and really want to just throw the paper out the window and storm out. But somehow I manage to keep going. By some miracle I manage to bring my focus back to the lesson in hand - seeing the shapes of the negative spaces around the objects. And hey presto, it actually worked! Part of my brain was still going "look at that, it's pathetic, it doesn't look anything like it's supposed to, you're no good at this" but its self-assuredness was lessening as it knew it was gradually being proved wrong.

And, ok, so I'm still sulking over the art class and my thighs are still killing me, but wow what a good lesson I've learnt: resistance really is futile - just give up or get over it!