'Heavy rain soon'

“The concept of the unconscious has long been knocking at the gates of psychology and asking to be let in. Philosophy and literature have often toyed with it, but science could find no use for it”. 

(Freud 1940)

'Science and magic are sides of the same coin, Mama. That's why I like Chemistry.' - The BD, age 4.

I have a cold. It isn't a surprise that it arrives during the modeling session: It was below freezing in Celsius and Fahrenheit today and I spent a significant portion of it posing for an art class, peering down into the remains of the Claudius Gateway. Plus, my 4th UK COVID jab has my left arm still feeling as though my left arm has gone five unsuccessful rounds with a belligerent sibling. It is the first wretched throat I've had post-COVID and I know that part of this is down to the absence of masks. I really must get back to that. I still wear them on any public transport, despite (or perhaps because of) the eye-rolling I encounter

Chatting with one of the sketch artists, she asks where I am from. I laugh and say 'I'm American but born in Germany.'

'No way! So am I!' She grew up in Georgia, south of Atlanta and her accent reminds me of sweet tea, summer peaches, and walking barefoot. We laugh at how small the world is and talk about life and love. 'I met my husband in 1998, in the early days of internet dating. You know, before...'

'Before internet dating became the playing field for narcissists, con artists, and the like?' She laughs. 'Exactly! I keep waiting for the documentary about online dating that is like that one they did...what was it called? Oh! 'Don't F@ck with Cats.' We laugh and I stretch, rotating my arms, placing my palms flat on the glass floor. There is only one radiator in this room, the floors marble. I shiver, stand up straight. I should have done a site visit but I did remember to bring extra wool blankets. And I broke out the fur, it is so cold. There is something quite decadent about stretching out on top of a fur coat, the silkiness of the pelts.

The woman continues on. 'I was adopted. My parents were American military. And I just discovered that I have a sister! She was adopted too; her parents were in the Air Force, mine in the Army. And do you know what? I grew up in Warner Roberts and she grew up in Columbus, Georgia! Can you believe that? How small is the world, really?' She shakes her head and smiles. 'We're going to meet next summer.' I smile back, thinking about my father and his siblings, how I only know a handful of them, how I am not even sure the ones who are left know he and my grandmother are dead. Or that they even want to know.

I stare off into space, then along the white walls, the white cornice, thinking about Durer, about layers of white, of how many different kinds of white there are, how you can look out over an expanse and begin to see the nuance in a landscape you thought had become monochromatic. 

I think of closely watched trains, of strings tied to larks, of reading literature in translation and wondering what is being missed out on, what is gained, the conveyance. How a new translation can shift intention. Was Hrabal just feeding the pidgeons when he slipped? Is it defenestration by indoctrination if you jump?

I remember reading 'Romeo and Juliet' the first and second times, confused as to why everyone was so upset. I thought it was a comedy, judging it against the confines of my 10 years. I sigh, shift in to a new pose. Rinse, repeat. Three hours in, it is colder than one in clothes would like and I am turning various shades of cold. My hands are a light periwinkle, my nose is cold to touch.

Back at the house, the downstairs is frigid. I suppose at some point, I will have to have the radiator looked at, but honestly, it seems a fool's errand, until the new door is installed. And i hope that is soon, as the wind howls and bangs outside.

'It is in when the world within us is destroyed, when it is dead and loveless, when our loved ones are in fragments, and we ourselves are in hopeless despair - it is then that we must recreate our world anew, reassemble the pieces and infuse life into dead fragments, help us recreate life” Segal, H. (1981)'

Later, I begin copyediting a dissertation. I've taken a new role and I need to fill out the new starter's pack.  But I need an 'in case of emergency,' and it makes my heart sink that I don't have one immediately to hand, although there are wins flapping against the horizon. And new clients to onboard. I sigh, go back to pulling a wardrobe for an unexpected photo shoot on Tuesday.  London-bound. I must go back to keeping a list, must refill the tissues. Some days I can't tell if it is rain or a lash in my eye.