Inspiration

Unplugging and Reinventing

ASHLIN HORNE

I’ve forgotten how to be enchanted.

We live in a world where text messages are considered pursuit, apps can act as a crystal ball for choosing your future spouse, phone calls are for old people and face to face dinners where phones stay tucked in our pockets are almost extinct.

I used to spend weekends watching movie after movie. My sister and I would curl up with cups of tea, bags of snacks and sit under piles of blankets. I never once watched a movie where people stared at their phones during dinner or sat in rooms silently scrolling through Facebook for three hours. If I had watched a movie where people paused at every meal, street corner, or flower to take a picture and Instagram it, I would have never made it to the ending.

I’ve been consumed by the wrong kind of light. The glow of my computer and phone have dulled my…

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Families, Family, Inspiration, loss, love, mental health, New life, real life, social media, Spirt and soul, Uncategorized, Whatever, women

My life

Looking back on the story of my life, I see a time punctuated with love and laughter, with sadness and joy.

From the poor childhood filled with green and grey memories, the grass and the slate, the rain and the rain!
A life filled with loneliness and rituals.
Sickness and long corridors. Crying and sadness.

Lifelong friendships made on bus journeys, new experiences, and places.
Others lifestyles, and others laughter.
Finding love and loosing love, finding it again – only for it to drift away as young lust does.

A change of life, a change of culture, change of pace and language.
A change of love, a father figure who was anything but an ideal role model,
and thankfully never a father.

Memories left behind, together with the bruises and what little hope there was of happiness.
Anger and rage, rules and rebukes.

A knight in shining armour, a prince who had shared my memories before.
He who gave me back my hope and love, unconditional and everlasting love!
And in return I gave bricks and mortar and sunny times.

A time of sadness, a time of loss again and again.
The ones who loved me in a sea of others, stolen away without saying goodbye.
Without being able to share my hopes and telling that better life story I’d planned with my prince.

Stolen love and kisses at 1am gave milky smiles, not once but twice.
Tiny hands clutching at hair and sleepy eyes, and the smell only new born have.
Blue and blue double trouble!

Lasting memories of A&E and adventurous toddlers.
Nuts and bolts, falling off logs and stitches, diving for alligators, snails, M&M’s and runny noses.
Each word conjuring up a memory of boys and daily life in the household! Words when said, run like a film clip in my mind of those events.

Chaos and bike chains, swimming lesson, dirty football boots.
Discovering difficulties and challenges, jam and pizza.
Mundane and regular.

Summer holidays with kites, camping and caravans.
Rain and sun cream all rolled into one. Lasting friendships made – for 10 days.
Dancing and slush puppies.
Family holidays under the dome, ducks and deer, silently watching the apples and the bread through the glass of a cosy warm chalet.

 

A time of horror.
Of long train and bus journeys, of sadness and pain.
Innocence gone in the blink of an eye. Scars carried like armour, making him strong, but still so very innocent.

Driving and cars. One, two, eight or is it nine?
Young love, innocent and gentle. Shared beliefs and dreams.
Counting the years, counting the homes and now counting the babies.

A time of joy. Of long train and car journeys, of happiness and new experiences.
Hard work, and new technology.
Missing the long and lean boy sleeping on the sofa, mixing with the rich and elite, a new life experiences, built on hard work.

And now in the autumn of my life, I look back on this colourful patchwork of events. Some with sadness, most with joy.
Each nugget of memory lodged in my heart to bring out in conversation with family and friends.
Not too dissimilar from other’s lives, but my memories never the less.
Each day, each year, each smile, each tear punctuating hours and years.

It’s not over yet, more memories to have I plan and hope.
More holidays, more sun, less of something.
Lets see!

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Inspiration

‘George’

‘George’ I shouted at the top of my voice. ‘What are you doing here?’.

I hadn’t seen him for a long time, thank goodness. He wasn’t my best friend.

I’m not sure if he noticed me, he didn’t turn his head.

I called my husband, ‘George is back’.

‘I know, he has been for week’s.’

What was I to do?

 

 

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Inspiration

Art in the Attic

Art in the Attic is an amazing space. I’m sure the exhibition will be resounding success.

My Rhondda Bucket List

Art in the Attic is a little space at the top of the iconic Pop Factory in Porth. For the next two weeks it is playing host to a new exhibition by a group of local artists: The Subjectives. This is the artists’ first time exhibiting as a collective.

Factory-porthThe Pop Factory, owned by Valleys Kids since 2011, was an old Corona Pop Factory and has now been reclaimed as a creative community hub. The Attic hosts multiple exhibitions: keep up to date with them on their facebook page!

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All from the Rhondda, these artists use studio space in the basement of the Factory to work on their pieces.  There are a mix of sculptures, ceramics and paintings in this exhibition.

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Anne, the artist in residence, has done a wonderful job of supporting these artists as well as curating this exhibition. I urge you to go and see the lovely attic…

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Inspiration

Who am I?

August 2017. I woke up with fiery Welsh blood coursing through my veins. I never thought I was anything else. Proud of my Welsh family, upbringing and heritage.

I take my DNA test.

September 2017. I learn I am just as much Eastern European Jewish and a smattering of Irish as Welsh. I’m shocked but not too horrified.

October 2017. Now I’m shocked! There is Welsh on one side, and Irish. Not as I imagined but as convicts taken to Australia.

Where will the rest of 2017 take me!

And here is to 2018.

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