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Going to the gym, I could have gone earlier, when the cleaner wouldn't be there, but I got caught up staring at the sea, recovering from a few tricky weeks. I'm going today in a vortex protection of spiky blue light, I've not done this before. She is very familiar this woman. Like some kind of archetype. She's pleasant enough to my face, but there's a feeling of hatred as she looks me up and down. An expression of disgust as she sees paint splatters on my trousers, or an undone hem on a coat or pocket. Once I was alone in the changing room and she came up to me with a big wet brush full of dirt, and swept up over my feet, bashing into my ankles, several times. I was frozen, I wanted to lift my feet up, or say something. I'm normally very helpful in these kind of situations, but she looked me right in the eyes as she did it. After I wanted to cry, but I just didn't go to that gym again. Different gym, different time, same cleaner. A year has passed, she's nice to me on the surface, but I can feel her emotions towards me bubbling up again. I could have gone to the gym earlier, siesta time is safe, but I want to be strong. I look like a van or homeless person, same outfit regularly, though I do buy several of the same items when I shop every few years. I'm not spick and span, not your standard female attire, more male. I wondered if that was it. There are so many people living in vans in Ibiza, but you do get hatred sometimes. It's the not belonging to the 'regular' lifestyle, and the thought of it as unsanitary, and that you're flitting about, free. I don't know really. But my desire to be liked, by all sorts of nasty behaving people, has to stop. I'm summoning up the power of the sea, which runs through my real veins, not the civilised ones I don't really own.

Lady on a rock painting, 2016. Not keen on painting on rocks or nature now, natural things are so beautiful as they are, more relaxing to look at. At the time I felt like a wild dog running free. Is this just the wild dog pissing on a rock perhaps. Though I love looking at ancient art in caves and on rocks, probably I just don't think I'm good enough to warrant taking up that space in that way. Or the art isn't right for that environment, I don't know. Or I'm lost. I love nature more than my art, though I still want to make art. I can think of different ways to make art outside than in this way, with nature or along side it, that I would be happier with, now. Or using the plastic on the beaches for example, though not really drawn creatively to that, there's lots of colour washed up. Still I prefer just going on picking up sprees and putting it in the plastics bins, so the wildlife doesn't eat it. But this was wild dog me then, pissing on rocks. It's just a hole now, where this rock was, nature hurling it in to the sea, or someone fancied it!

‘Daisy, Rose, Betty, Bobby and Rosie’, 51cm x 61cm, oil painting commission, 2016. Thoughtless and selfish of me to use plastic plates, for mixing paint on. I use old plates from charity shops now, over and over again. They are nice and heavy, and stay still, and become part of your little world. Still using toxic paint though, I'll maybe choose something different at some point.

'Lottie loved being in the mountains', watercolour and pencil on paper, 2018. (sold).

New York New York 📷 by Charles Thomson

2018, not sure the title!? Acrylic on paper, A4 ish. (sold).

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