As a chronic insomniac I've got used to waking at two in the morning unable to rekindle slumber. So in those early morning arisings, I watch many a boxed set. I've had my Friends phase, my Star Treck derivatives phase, My Schitt's Creek phase, my Vera phase. In recent weeks, at the same time as working my way through each series of Midnight Diner ( see a previous post ) I've been catching up on a few episodes of the Repair Shop I appear to have missed first time around.
I find it calmly absorbing to watch the skill of a craftmaker at work. Their unhurried careful working methods I emulate only in my dreams. By comparison mine start off being well tidy and ordered but gradually descends into a pile of mess. The enotional tone behind much of my work as if I'm undergoing a productivity review. Its an area of practice just to stay calm and rest easy with taking whatever time is required.
Many of the older Repair Shop series are audio described. These fill in audible space, where it may be unclear what exactly is happening if your sight is poor on non existent At present I am non of those things.
This reminded me of going home to stay with my Dad, he was in his late eighties by then. At some point he must have accidentally pressed the audio described button on his TV remote. He complained vociferously about how the BBC were now putting this chap talking over the top of all the programmes, all the time, and how annoying that was. He rarely wore his hearing aids, even though he was a tad deaf, so the TV was on incredibly loud. The audio description bellowed out. Needless to say I switched it off.
I've unexpectedly been taking huge and unexpected joy from these audio descriptions. Sometimes the scripts go very flowery and poetic, at other times they have a perhaps unintended humour, or assume the feeling of having been written as a piece of magic realism.
If you couldn't see what was actually going on, how might you interpret some of these?
- A pigeon perches on a wooden post, as Dom takes his mechanism to Steve.
- At her workstation Julie spoons something from her mug into her mouth.
- Sparks fly as another crafter sharpens a piece of metal.
- The sun rises over the idyllic countryside, a fine mist settles over the trees and drops of morning dew cling to tall blades of grass. Two of the crafter's walk along the gravel path to the barn.
- Jay gives Hannah a friendly pat as he passes her work bench.
- The branches of trees are blown by a gentle breeze, and a bird waddles across the repair shop's thatched roof. Suzie is on the home straight in her work.
- A wren ruffles its feathers, then the craftspeople arrive at the workshop.
Just think how much better life would be if everyday life had a voice constantly explaining what the hell was going on. On second thoughts maybe not.
Lately I've been processing a deeper understanding of the nature and consequences of one self view I've held. One result has been being easily irritated by the smallest thing not going according to plan. A recent re-jigging of the shop layout was a case in point. All was well until I'd made three different attempts at getting a re-hang on one section of wall sorted out. Each time it didn't work, stick on hooks fell off walls, things pranged or fell onto the floor. Though I did eventually succeed, it was done at great cost to my overall quality of equanimity. I'd progressively dug myself deeper into a funk of frustration, then anger. I returned home so physically tense that my back just went, to be nursed for the next few weeks. Some times I wish that prattitya samutpada wasn't so blatantly co--produced.
On another tack I've been adopting a more lassez faire approach to boredom in the shop. I realised that although 'if all else fails, distract yourself ' can work, it cannot be your first and only port of call. I now get on with some craft making task, but don't necessarily do it to the background accompaniment of music, radio, a film or You Tube video. All those things, though there to alleviate your response to the boredom, are also a prolongation of it. As you flip from one sound or visual form to another, each one failing to really transform the mood or satisfy the hunger for presence or purpose. Such distractions can simply intensify the connection with the state of boredom. Maybe it is just better to let it be. To stop scratching the itch.
A friend of ours Sam, knowing my liking for things Japanese, bought me a Japanese Stab Bookbinding kit for me to try out. I found I really enjoyed painting the watercolour paper covers and making them up into a little notebook. The process is a relatively simple one, skill wise, but I find it very satisfying. I am already looking into further developing my nascent skills with books about Japanese Bookbinding being sourced, and improving my book binding tools. I can feel a few new stationery lines for the shop will be coming along soon. I've also bought an introductory set to try out marbling paper or fabric, which might just end up featuring on book covers. Just a few lines of craft inquiry I want to pursue over the next year, along with seeking to improve my general level of upholstery skills.
Oh joy of joys its Eurovision once more. By turns batty, bizarre and bombastic, I love it. This year some contributors having been so deprived of their performance fix last year, have gone all out surreal weird. The Norway entrant has a song about wrestling with his demons. Guess what he's dressed in? A glittery jump suit with a long white fur cost and angel wings, chained to four dark devilish demons who try constantly to pull him off his pedestal.
And just why are Latvia's three back up singers all dressed in emerald green with black visors like extras escaped from robo cop, whilst the singer is a vampish Egyptian queen?
There was a song from Denmark which unfortunately didn't make the final, like many of this years entrants channeling mid 80's electro. With an Andy Bell like lead singer whose posturing was seemingly choreographed by an out of work bricklayer - and now shoot your arm up high then push your left hip to one side, and hold. Then grab half a microphone stand in your hand and run around the stage set with it, stop, jump and do air splits, spread your legs. One couldn't help but feel the wardrobe combo of string vest and tiny cerise jacket made for a much smaller man, was not their only mistake.
There are also the attempts at profundity. In these days of worldwide pandemic no self respecting frivolous entertainment can avoid at least attempting to make a pigs ear of sensitive artistic credibility. Mostly this comes down to dance routines to fill out the void between voting and results. In the second semi-final we were presented with an ambitious piece of tosh, reportedly about relationships across boundaries. This consisted of a handsomely bare chested gentleman, dressed in a floor length silver metallic skirt and his hots for a young man. who does acrobatic tricks on a bicycle. I was moved!
One song favourite this year is Moldova's, a country with a well earned reputation these days for putting on a memorable stage routine. This years entrant Sugar did not disappoint, channelling mid period 'kitten' Kylie. Probably the campest thing of the 2021 show. The promo video is actually even better with additional dancing ice cream cones! But be warned she does rip the face off her boyfriend and eat it at the end. I kid you not.
Trends this year - the obligatory borrowing from - everything that Queen Bey has ever done - Lady Gaga lookalikes and soundalikes ( yes someone still does that ) - the shrill melodramatic braying of Florence ( of the Machine ) - and the Bulgarian entrant doing a spookily perfect impersonation of Billie Eillish - without irony. Plagiarism thy name is Eurovision. Claims for music copyright infringement are in the post.
No comments:
Post a Comment