Still not quite managing to get into a proper morning routine.
Out of bed, coffee, then practising – I’ve let this also become a bit defocused. I’ve been trying to explore chromatic harmony (the chords you get if you add one passing note to a scale, for example C major plus C#), which was exciting and overwhelming at first, but today I realised could be just as poncey as it sounds if I don’t put some disclipline into it. Exactly what, though, escapes me.
I have a fairly lengthy shower, and put on a nice-ish suit in order to go out. First I deliver a prescription to be renewed (didn’t last long that time – either I’ve been taking more of them, or they gave me a lot fewer than they’re supposed to have done. Probably the former), then strolled up to Tate Modern.
Went to the Georgia O’Keefe, Wifredo Lam, Bhupen Khakhar exhibitions. I wasn’t familiar with O’Keefe apart from being vaguely aware of her reputation. Caught between enjoying the painting (particularly the earlier stuff), and finding it all a bit mundane. Perhaps it’s my mood – if my fallow period continues, I might try to make it back in the next couple of weeks see if I change my mind. I’d seen the Khakhar before, and enjoy colours mostly. I derive the most fun from Lam’s cartoonish surrealism, which is probably my level, sadly, and hopefully I’ll make it back before it closes next year, perhaps even try to get the catalogue at an end-of-exhibition discount price.
Lots of things I’d like to nick and try out in designs and pictures and so forth. I really must try to remember to take a sketch- or notebook with me when I go to the Tate. I always think this, and always fail. I should at least write down the list of things to do that crosses my mind as I’m walking around.
I walk across the bridge at the top, to explore the New Bit, which I’ve not managed yet. Getting across the bridge is the first challenge – walking right in the middle, staring fixedly in front of me, knowing that there’s an impressive drop right and left. First I walk all the way up to the viewing gallery (I suppose I must have thought I’d not had enough acrophobic thrills for the day, or more likely not thought at all). Despite the fact that I started from what seemed very high up indeed it was a further long ascent to get there. The view is very impressive even from inside the glass. I wasn’t going to go out onto the balcony today. There are limits.
The people across the way, complaining about Tate visitors being able to see in to their apartments (which is true), possibly don’t realise that their living rooms are a lot less interesting to look at than the London skyline.
Anyway, then I walk down through the building. It seems oddly anticlimatic, like the exibitions are an afterthought, but, again, perhaps my opinion will shift.
On the way home I buy a packet of peppermint tea for some reason. The superego seems to want peppermint tea. It knows best, I suppose. Well, obviously. Being the superego.
When I get home, I try out some lyrics that came to me for a song that’s remained stubbornly unlyricised for a long time. They do seem to fit, which means that now the song is semilyricised, which is some kind of a start.
H comes home, we have tea, and then I go to the main computer with the intention of getting something done. There is definitely some kind of activity, though I don’t know if I manage to do anything really.