#32 The Offcuts
You wanna guess the address of the email I had at 14
I’m very conscious of the fact that I seem to talk a lot about the weather on Substack. Perhaps in another life, that’s what I’d be doing - presenting the weather. Seeing as I seem to be so obsessed with it. I wore my first jumper this week. As in, actually built an outfit around it as a piece of clothing I intended to wear. Versus the sweatshirts of summer I’d sometimes decide to bring with me on outings in case of emergencies. The familiar touch of a polyamide-cotton blend. I must resist opening the floodgates to ordering another & Other Stories jumper as I’m ready to welcome autumn with open arms.
I’ve started reading Outline by Rachel Cusk this week. Sometimes, I’ll pick up a book and I’ll know within the first 3 pages whether it’s going to grip me or not. Sometimes, I’ll be reading a book and chastise myself for why I didn’t read it sooner because of how much I’m enjoying it or the inspiration I’m finding from it. Sometimes, I’ll read a book on my Kindle and highlight so many sentences or sections of text as though I’m pleading the words to imprint themselves on my brain, despite knowing I’ve never looked back at anything I’ve highlighted on my Kindle books. You get the picture.
I watched The Substance at the cinema last week - this is the best take I’ve read on the film. “Blaming late-night texts to your ex on your drunken self — it’s not just a deflection of agency, it’s a way of framing yourself as the victim of someone else’s bad impulses”.
Writer, director and co-producer Coralie Fargeat also recommended some films to watch after The Substance with The Face magazine and it’s clear to see where her influences came from.
Lady GaGa on why she didn’t ever shut down rumours that she was a man - “I guess what I’m saying is, I’ve been in situations where fixing a rumour was not in the best interest of … the well-being of other people”.
We realized much too late that we were right for each other - do not read if feeling emotionally fragile as you will cry.
As a lover of the Wildlife Photographer of the Year at the National History Museum (which is back next month), I enjoyed scrolling through winners of Ocean Photographer of the Year.
Today I’m going to see the Now You See Us exhibition of female artists at the Tate Britain with my sister. The exhibition is all about championing the female artists who fought for recognition in their own work, wider acceptance of female art generally and for access to training. Some of these artists were quite renowned at their time, only to be swiftly forgotten.
On Thursday, I also went to The Garden Museum to see the Gardening Bohemia: Bloomsbury Women Outdoors exhibition before it closed. It looked at the gardens and lives of the women of the Bloomsbury group (Virginia Woolf, Vanessa Bell, Vita Sackville-West and Ottoline Morrell).
I think next on my list will probably be a visit to The Cube to see Tracey Emin’s solo exhibition ‘I followed you to the end’.
Art consumption certain to make
I miss our collective digital illiteracy. Email addresses are not what they used to be. I had a few including lilmissmaryx@, fabulousmaryx@ and miss_mary_yeah_man@. I am dying inside writing this. My sister’s friend loved horse riding when she was little so naturally iloveriding@ seemed like the perfect choice at the time. Anyone else care to add?
The Great British Bake Off came back this week. It is yet another marker of autumn and the passing of time. The calibre of amateur bakers looks good this year. I nearly cried about five times watching them all just be humans doing human things - you know how this sets me off. I have memories of watching Bake Off right back to almost ten years ago at university. Eating M&S Milk Chocolate Rounds (absolutely elite biscuits), wrapped in blankets gathered like penguins around a laptop on the floor because our flat was oh so freezing cold.
Why does it feel so strange to go for a walk that isn’t circular or doesn’t have a loop at the end? The other day I went for a walk and wound up along the canal. I didn’t want to walk under the bridge because it was all flooded with water so I just stopped, like I’d been possessed or run out of batteries. Then I suddenly felt very self-conscious. I sort of fake deliberated and pretended I was figuring something out on my phone before committing to the 180 and going back the way I came.
It’s funny because every year is always the same. We forget. At least I do. As much as I love the burgeoning pastels of spring and the vibrancy of summer, autumn sends my mind into a spin of complete awe at how nature is able to create a palette of such colours. It doesn’t seem real, particularly the reds. So I’ll round off this week with a little ode to falling leaves.
Fall, Leaves, Fall
Emily Brontë
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
