SilkBones
A collection of inspirations and notes expanding on my sketchbooks for a Masters; in my case best described as Applied Art and Folklore.
twitter.com/SiobhanRodgers:
Oh can this come in card form…
(Source: milkyblue, via theworldsgotmedizzyagain)
for I have sinned
the crumbs from your table
are never enough
And temptation
tastes of milk and honey
Oh give us this day
our daily bread
and a handful of silver
to forgive our trespasses
a salted benediction
to save our souls
before we are just ashes
and dust."
- The Sin Eater Siobhan Rodgers 2011 (via the-wordgirl)
Please if you have a moment, hop over to The Word Girl and leave some feedback in my ask box, you don’t have to be kind but please be constructive, I’m trying to build on my writing portfolio and I need to know how I’m doing…
(via the-wordgirl)
Some current reading…
The Irresistible Fairy Tale - Jack Zipes
Women who run with Wolves - Clarissa Pinkola Estes
My Mother she killed me, My father he ate me - Ed. Kate Bernheimer
He’s the shadow lingering on the edge of your nightmare. He’s the teenage dream you conjured some lonely midnight. You knew really, they’re the same thing. His heart is darker than that wool coat he hides it behind, a demon named all wrong, all cool and easy charm and a closed fist. His eyes are…
Practicing characterisation over on The Word Girl, using my old loves as inspiration, I’m hoping no one is offended and I get some feedback on my writing, please if you have a minute, hop on over and leave me a note? Thank you Xx
At night I don’t sleep, I write, pouring ink onto paper with my heart; stories, poetry and ideas, snippets of beautiful things, a comfort, a distraction from the dark. Each morning my fingers are covered in ink, as blue as the dawn, and is that the mark of a writer? My mother says I was born to this; before I knew the alphabet, before there was school and exercise books full of copied letters, I was writing, covering pages in tiny ooooooooo’s, broken like words on an inked page, telling my parents with all the exasperation a toddler can muster that I was writing a story, as if they were in my way or costing me time. And so these twenty something years later I write, words now, magical, strange, distracting words; my comfort blanket, my saviour; for a word, after a word, after a word is power…. *
I’ve been careful with my words, locking them in drawers and only giving them to those I trusted with my life or more, but I’ve needed feedback, constructive and insightful and so I’ve started a new blog “The Word Girl” (because yes, I need four…) in the place of a writing group I had been planning to attend and which fell though, so dear Internet, please be my writing group? Read and comment, prompt me, push me, send me links, please? S Xx
*Margaret Atwood “Spelling”
A British one penny coin from 1903 defaced by the Suffragettes
And one of the 100 objects making up the BBC’s A History of the World in 100 objects a radio program and book telling the tale of 100 objects picked from the V&A’s extensive collection, please if you’ve any interest in history, politics, people, stories, craft, art, etc download the podcasts and buy the book, you’ll be enthralled…
(Source: thelightandthedark, via thenewwomensmovement)
Are you following my other tumblr Ink and Light Arts? Mostly like a scrapbook/moodboard of thoughts and photos both found and taken, all things me that don’t “fit” here… Xx
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.
Bloody.
Bog-down and eider
a map scattered to the winds
Threads in forty shades
hours of silence
and sisters always wait behind"
(Source: silk-bones)
