Henri

A wise woman once said, “get rid of everything in your life that isn’t useful, joyful or beautiful.” Admittedly, another wise woman also advised young writers not to fulfil a pitiful cliché by starting a piece with “a wise woman once said.”

I am currently in my tiny and abysmally messy room at university, hiding from the snow and people. Being cooped up in this box of slight madness probably isn’t good for the soul, but being alone when you want to be is, so I guess that counteracts it somewhat. I have been here a mere 10 weeks, although it seems like longer, and already I have managed to plaster the walls with my favourite things. Landscapes of my uncle’s farm, seascapes of the beach in Beer where I go with my parents. A few photographs of friends, some of my favourite works. Henri Cartier-Bresson…I’ll come back to him. Articles I like, beautiful women from the shiny pages of Vogue…inspiration? To an extent I guess. More solemn and secretly unfortunate hope. Remember…nobody really looks like that.

“If you are tired of the old, create the new.”

I must admit, I’m pretty proud of that one. Perhaps I should copyright it, but in a more dignified way than Paris Hilton trying to copyright her signature phrase “That’s hot” a couple of years back. But my quote is flawed, mainly because I am just that kind of painful and indecisive person. I want to spend my days writing in the middle of a snow sodden field, warming my feet on the black flagstones near the open fire in the back kitchen of a farmhouse. I want to go on walks, to appreciate the simple things, and keep my feet firmly on the ground. I want to breathe air that is so clean and crisp I can taste it, feel it billowing down my throat and through my veins.

However.

I also want to stay awake all night mocking the streets of London. I want to sweat and feel grime beneath my nails. I want to dance, to run and to drink. I want to smoke and scream and ignore my ever-persisting conscious. I want to fly, to never lay a toe on the ground again. Live on bohemia. Does it even exist anymore? I don’t suppose many people choose the modern bohemian life. A part of me wishes I could.

Fashion vs. Fields. Drugs vs. Dogs? Manic vs. Mellow. Capital vs. Country. Sticking it to the man vs. Serenity. What a completely odd mix of desires. I’ll be able to decide on those later, like I can talk about Henri Cartier-Bresson later. But one thing, if it is the only thing I confirm all week, is the fact that I never want to be the heartbreaker…ever again. I could wish away my conscious I guess, but what kind of a person would that truly make me? Better to deal with what you have done and become a better person than just be lost in the care-free wilderness of inhumanity. Seems a little drastic, but as faux-horrible as I do love to be, I do love. I hurt when others hurt, and if I’ve caused it? Well. Self-harm isn’t very impressive or respectable really.

You should really look up Henri Cartier-Bresson. He’s very talented.