Day 13: Hot Raspberries

A slow trundle overland to Acton, and Jude.  Good coffee in an posh artisanal cafe to start (baroque meringues, fruit tartlets, intimidating bread), and then to the business of the day.  Mask making.  Had no idea what to expect.  The last time I made a mask was when I was five.  A paper plate transformed into a Hallowe'en pumpkin through the alchemy of orange crepe and a willing suspension of disbelief.  Things have moved on since those days.  A proper plaster face cast.  Vaseline.  Clay - wherever you want it.  More Vaseline.  Papier mache - soft scraps of scrumpled brown paper, and a finger bowl of watery PVA.  Four coats.  A fine fabric layer.  The day is finished before I notice, tea cold at my elbow.  Utterly absorbing - watching a thing emerge from nowhere.  A tangible thing.  Won't know what it's really about until the final layers of papier mache are applied, and I can paint it and give it eyes.  Can't wait to do it.  A couple of weeks ago I passed a mosaic shop in West London, and paused to watch the man inside at work, surrounded by trays of tiny coloured chips, completely immersed in the world on his workbench.  It looked so satisfying and pleasing.  As with the mask-making.  Nothing, but nothing, is more important in that moment than finding the scrap of paper that will fit perfectly around the nostrils.  Everything else fades into soft focus background.  Very, very relaxing.  I've never quite been able to face either a 'pampering day' (foofed-up French poodles) or a 'spa' (sullen therapists in white Birkenstocks) let alone the combination of a 'pampering day at a spa' (terrifying), but I 'm not sure I need to now.  I will simply mess about with papier mache instead.  Hooray and thank you, Jude.

In addition, the simple pleasure of hot raspberries (who knew?) and Greek yoghurt (again, thank you, Jude).  More than the sum of their parts. 

And my walk home from the station, passing a cluster of posh boys from St Albans school.  'Shut up, Ollie.  NOBODY values you!'  An unusual and enjoyably brutal smack-down.  And one that could only ever exist in a secure bubble where people ARE valued.  In the same way that one might call Kate Moss fat.  And for this moment I am happy for Ollie, and the fact that he is actually valued. 
 
Incidentally, the image is just one I found on the internet.  I picked it because I really liked the caption that came with it - 'Paul in the Bum Face mask'.  Quite.