Salt of the Earth

Who Do We Think We Are?

2011-12-16T12:52:00.000Z

So much is written about loss of memory in old age. But it seems to me that as a culture, we have fallen ill with some kind of collective Alzheimer’s disease.

Consider: when an old person forgets who he or she is, what we really mean is that they have forgotten who they were, where they belong, and what they’ve done in their lives. Our identity and sense of purpose today rely totally on our remembrance of things past.

As a society – and throughout Western culture – we are in grave danger of losing the crucial links which gave continuity and structure to former generations. We, too, have forgotten who we are and where we belong.

For hundreds of thousands of years, older, more experienced members of every tribe and race passed their knowledge, memories and values to the young ones, just starting out. Sometimes, this was done formally and ceremonially, by priests, teachers or military officers. But just as often, older relatives and friends imparted their knowledge and skills informally: at the hearthside; during a rest from toil; or while working side-by-side.

Why have we always done this? The answer is obvious. The process of imparting wisdom, sharing experience, and showing by example all help to give children and young adults the understanding and capabilities they need to be useful , valuable members of society.

But altruism can’t have been our ancestors’ only motivation. Memento mori – intimations of mortality – also played a part.

Since the beginning of time, we humans have longed to defy physical death, to leave a part of ourselves that will live on. As we grow older, most of us become aware of this need to demonstrate that our fleeting lives, our toil, our experience and our insights mean something - and that this meaning will continue to resonate through the minds, hands and hearts of those who come after us.

These two, closely entwined needs – that of the young for knowledge and skill and that of the old for meaning and purpose – have not vanished. They are as strong today as they ever were. Yet we find ourselves in a society divided against itself, where children and teenagers rarely mix with adults other than their parents and teachers, and where older people are often marginalized and made to feel useless once their working life ends.

Sorry, you’ve been disconnected.

Let’s go back to that original analogy of loss of memory. As senile dementia or Alzheimer’s take hold of a person, breaks begin to occur in the synapses which allow electro-chemical messages to travel through the brain; like short circuits, these broken connections make reasoning and memory increasingly unpredictable and fallible.

When the links which carry our flow of meaning, purpose and continuity between the present and the past are broken, it isn’t just individuals who begin to fall apart. Societies do, too.

Not so long ago, we lived in “extended families”, which included children, their parents and grandparents – and perhaps a few uncles, aunts and cousins thrown in for good measure. In that earlier, less mobile population, relatives probably lived just a few doors or streets away.

The extended family created some friction, of course; but there was also positive communication and cooperation among all generations. They ate together and prayed together. They learned from one another and shared the challenges of life within a circle of mutual support. Everyone had useful roles to play; even children had responsibilities or “chores”. Each person’s labour was important, and everyone knew he or she was valued. Even the elderly, unfit for heavy work, could help by taking over the care of small children, thus freeing the middle generation for other work.

Today, these connections, these ‘social synapses’ hardly exist, except among close-knit ethnic and religious communities, such as the Amish, Mennonites and first generation immigrants.

Most of us tacitly agree that things are “better” when the eldest live apart from their children and grandchildren, and where each age group spends the majority of its waking hours in the company of its peers. But is it really better? And if so, for whom?

Figure it out for yourself.

We pay crèches and babysitters to look after our small children, or rush them into playschools and kindergartens when they are hardly more than toddlers. Sometimes, these services cost almost as much as a parent can earn from a job outside the home. But the pressure is on parents to “educate” their kids as quickly as possible, in order to give them a “head start”.

The implication is that learning about the world is something that should take place in a school, under the eyes of expert teachers, and according to a government-sanctioned national curriculum, whereas learning – both practical and moral - from the family at home is somehow an inferior alternative that could handicap a child in our competitive, materialistic world.

There are other broken connections. Many children and teenagers today make no contribution to the family unit. They expect – and often get - pocket money, but there is no link between these handouts and performing a valued and respected role, e.g. helping with housework, the garden, washing the car, looking after younger siblings or elderly relatives.

We all need to re-learn an old truth: recognition and respect are just as important as rewards when it comes to building self-esteem. And feeling good about who you are is a vital key of growing up confident and strong. Sadly, these days, the only goal most youngsters are offered is to pass endless exams. Otherwise, we expect them to amuse themselves and stay out of our hair.

We get angry when our kids spend the money we give them on useless junk, take drugs or get into trouble drinking or hanging out on on the streets with their peers – who are equally bored and lacking positive outlets for their energy. We preach at them to “act responsibly”, “do something useful” with their time, and “show some respect”. Yet we deny them the kinds of social challenges that will equip them to do any of these.

As we have grown more affluent, we’ve given our kids everything: clothes, iPods, mobile phones, computers and cars. Yes, we’ve given them everything - except a functioning family context within which they come to understand their importance as people and their links with the past. They are expected to figure out a system of solid values for themselves. And when they fail, we either castigate them, or blame their teachers.

On the Scrapheap

As for the so-called “third age”, we all know what happens to them. Many of the older generation would like to continue working and earning into their 60’s and 70’s; but, despite legislation, ageism still pervades our society. Employers often see an older person as a potential liability – too many sick days off work, old fashioned attitudes, impossible to retrain, and with expectation of higher wages than a biddable junior. They don’t see elders as a stabilising influence and a valuable source of experience.

Once their high-earning years are over, our seniors are largely seen as an inconveniently long-lived “burden on society”. They are expected to abandon ambitions and expectations, take a back seat and - as quickly and quietly as possible, please - to shuffle off this mortal coil.

Deprived of the web of social connections and family tasks that once provided reasons to remain active and productive, many older people sink into the passive mould our society has prepared for them. Next step: despair and decrepitude.

Is this really the future we want for our loved ones? Is it what we want for ourselves? Are these limited options and socially dysfunctional attitudes really the best our supposedly clever and affluent society can offer?

If the heartfelt answer is “No” – and let’s hope it is, what can we do both as individuals and families to revive a sense of meaning and make life more fulfilling at all ages?

Learn from the Ancestors

How can older people share what they know, feel and understand with kids if they never see any – except at a distance? How can young people get access to the riches of knowledge, skills, experience and wisdom that are locked up in the heads of their elders? And how can both of these generations bridge the gulf between them - a gulf made wider by stubborn stereotypes and prejudices that characterise youngsters as “foul-mouthed, lazy and selfish” and seniors as “daft, useless and irrelevant”?

We are living through tough times when many people in their 20’s, 30’s – or even older, are unable to afford a flat or house of their own and are forced by financial pressures to live with their parents. Most will regard this situation as a “hardship”, and feel immense impatience to break free. Yet, in a few short years, the older generation will find themselves in a house that is too large and expensive to maintain, while needing more security and support as their health and strength ebb away.

Is it too much to hope that both old and young can learn to respect and love one another, to value each other’s points of view and embrace the great potential that lies in sharing not only the same space but also the same mutually-supportive circle of life?

Maybe, instead of rushing to sign up to every new fad of educationalists, every new theory for social development and community care, we should take time to reflect on the traditions that nurtured our ancestors. We can’t turn back the clock, but that doesn’t mean we can’t learn from the past, and enrich our lives immeasurably through its gifts.

Turn Down the Noise...

2011-12-02T13:24:00.001Z

This has been a hell of a week. First an old boyfriend from one of my (3) American high schools resurfaced after 40+ years and we started a frenzied correspondence filling each other in on key achievements and disasters of our lives. Loads of smiles remembering. Then I heard that one of my sisters in the USA has cancer - and a very dangerous and invasive kind - news that came at me via several fraught messages from the other sisters. Gallons of tears and heartache. And finally, we were tipped off that the person who has offered to buy our house may be getting cold feet, as he is now looking at others. So we may be back to square one on moving ourselves and our business. Stay tuned. If you'd like to have a look at The Sugar House try pasting in this address: www.chestertonhumberts.com/residential-properties/property-for-sale/?newloc=NP7%207ET

Emotionally battered, like an old ship that has slipped its anchor in a storm, I feel physically and mentally wobbly - unable to steer, unable to stand up straight or to focus on anything. My head is dizzy with memories of potent joy and piercing sadness, awash with images of long-ago people and places. Some part of my brain briefly tried to engage with the house sale problem, but ... frankly, my dears, I don't give a damn. We love our cosy mountain and woodland home and will stay as long as the Fates decree. And anyway, there just are not enough fully-functioning synapses left on board to cope with both my chequered past and the opaque future.

Of course, nobody gets time off for good behaviour (and certainly not for bad). Life just keeps coming at you like a series of huge waves, threatening to swamp you and take you down to the cold, dark depths of depression. You know exactly what I mean. Even if you are not going through the kind of highs and lows I've experienced recently, it's easy to just give up and go under.

For example, I've heard every variation on the theme of imminent grounding on the old financial sandbar, as we are all pushed hither and yon by the gales of Austerity. John and I know a lot of brave, creative and capable people who are game to fight any battle. But today, nobody feels safe and nobody knows what's going to hit them next.

When I woke up this morning, with Radio 4 doling out more splurge on the Eurozone crisis, exposure of UK banks and all the rest of the doom-laden mess, I reached over and clicked the knob. Blessed silence followed. And I knew at once what I have to do this weekend. I'm going to spend time by myself in quietness. Meditate. Float free, rather than beating myself up about finding answers. I'm going to do what artists do when they give themselves entirely to their art.

First, I'm going to turn down the "noise" of responsibilities, outside demands and the inner chattering of conflicting emotions. Then I'm going to perform simple, almost Zen tasks such as stacking wood and gathering wild fungi. The ironing might even get done! I'm going to surrender myself to simple things that don't require much thinking, and that will leave me in the receptive "zone" where natural rhythms, gentle healing and rebalancing can take place.

Let the storms rage around me. I'm going below to shift the ballast of my life a little and get myself back on an even keel. This old tub has stayed afloat through all life's tempests so far. And I'm quietly confident I'll make it through this time. I hope you will, too.

Whose "Big Society" is it anyway?

2011-08-28T13:36:00.003+01:00

Maybe I worked in marketing too long. Or perhaps my "think for yourself" upbringing made me highly sceptical of political sloganeering. In any case, the government's catchphrase "The Big Society" makes me cringe - even though I applaud some aspects of the core idea.

I mean, what's not to like in the concept of us all doing more for our own communities? I suppose two things bother me. One is that it's a thinly veiled ploy to put more onus on taxpayers and private enterprise to do what the public sector is now too broke to accomplish. And the other is that "community projects" is rather vague, but smacks of committee-land.

So I decided to find out what kinds of "good works" qualify - and how they can be recognised. That last issue is important, because I know quite a few unsung heroes and heroines - mostly quite modest folks who don't want to be in the spotlight or have praise heaped on them by anyone official. They just quietly get on with doing stuff that's kind and helpful wherever they are: visiting friends who are ill or lonely; volunteering at their local charity shop or drop-in centre; lending whatever gadgets and tools might be needed for a neighbour's DIY project; baby sitting for busy parents who need to get away for a bit of R&R. None of these things are cause for bunting or fanfares. Yet they make our weary old world a better place.

But back to the "Big Society". In case you are as puzzled about how it works as I was, here goes:

Anyone can be nominated for a Big Society Award. You are even allowed to nominate yourself, but...would you? Oh, cringe! Also, I wouldn't embarrass most of the secret angels I know with any of this, but if you feel so moved, just send the name of the person you feel is making the most positive contribution to your "community" to the Prime Minister's office at www.number10.gov.uk and say why they deserve recognition.

Here are some of the winners of awards in 2011. They may give you some idea about how these things are perceived or judged, even if they don't inspire you to make a nomination.

Altogether Better - It's a self-help group for women who have mental and emotional problems as a result of past abuse, started by a woman with exactly that profile. See www.altogetherbetter.org.uk

Old Vic Tunnels - During the street art "Banksy Cans Festival" a few years back, held in a disused railway tunnel below Waterloo Station, London, an Old Vic theatre executive, Ian Jenkinson, discovered a door that had been left ajar. He walked though and found over 25,000 sq. ft. of abandoned tunnels. Jenkinson - with famous actor and Old Vic artistic director Kevin Spacey, have turned the space into a venue for training 16-25 year olds in a broad spectrum of theatre skills. There are performances, too. See: www.oldvictunnels.com

Wotton Pool - When funding cuts threatened to close the Wotton-under-Edge public swimming pool, the feisty locals formed a not-for-profit company and held a referendum to ask residents if they'd pay an extra 25 pence per week in Council Tax to safeguard the pool's future. It's been a big success. See www.wottonpool.co.uk

And there are more. Twelve winners are chosen each quarter and then announced weekly throughout the year. So if you want to commend a person or project in your area, hop to it! As for me, I'm just going to cherish my own local heroes with hugs, cups of tea and whatever help they may need from me.

On the importance of being two-faced...

2011-05-30T12:31:00.001+01:00

No, of course I'm not thinking of being crafty and duplicitous. What I have in mind is more to do with the Roman god Janus, deity of transitions. He stands "at the gate of the year" in his month, January, helping us to pine for auld lang syne or anticipate the whoopee we hope to make in the year ahead.

But of course, not all of life's beginnings and ends are dictated by the calendar or clock. Many happen only when we are physically or mentally ready to embrace them: birth, marriage, death - and the only slightly less tremendous events such as leaving home for the first time and retiring from work for good.

Inherent in all of these - and the thousands of nameless, very personal beginnings and ends we all make which have no special names, is a mixture of both loss and gain. Transitions are always bitter-sweet.

As a matter of fact, John and I are in the midst of exactly such a Janus moment - hence this posting. For 13 amazing years, we have lived in a rapturously beautiful setting in the Brecon Beacons. I wake to a view of The Blorenge mountain, heaving its broad back up like a sounding whale, wreathed in mist instead of spume and framed by the curving branches of a huge ash tree. Our garden may be full of weeds (I call them wildflowers), but amongst them are fruit trees and Japanese maples of many hues, raised beds of veg and borders of flowers. Who would not be happy here?

Even work is a joy because, from my big window in the log cabin, I look out right into our woods. There, in that coppiced alder, a wren builds her nest each year and sings louder than one can believe possible from such a tiny throat. Once when I was out walking, one of her newly-fledged babies settled briefly on top of my head for a rest. I walked taller all day, knowing I had been blessed. On that path just above I have seen a shimmering parade of wild pheasants trooping down in all seasons to our feeder. And a few weeks ago, a huge dog fox trotted past, golden eyes burning and intent, a neighbour's hen clamped firmly in his jaws. He was so close I could see individual hairs in his magnificent brush. What a thrill!

And now, it looks as if we are going to be moving house, leaving everything. My heart is breaking. I know how much I'll miss The Sugar House: the stream endlessly whispering stories, the wildlife, the views, the old cottage with its tall windows, mellow pine panelling and warm fires. We'll miss our neighbours, too - really good friends. Generous, kind, hard-working, funny people. Soon, the whole shootin' match will be just memories.

But Janus looks both ways - and so must we. We have a new place to go, and of course we're taking Salt of the Earth with us. Our garden will be minuscule compared to this, but we are on the edge of a huge forest park, only a short drive from fine waterfalls and lakes (or lochs - there's a clue) and an Artists' Town that serves as the hub for a truly impressive network of artists, photographers, craftsmen and galleries. We've already been greeted warmly by the locals and told that our services and support for the creative community will be welcomed. It's time to move on. The past has been kind to us, but it's time to close that door. Let's hope the future will open something different, challenging and just as special into what remains of our fortunate lives.

Grow your own delight.

2011-02-14T11:50:00.001Z

When we moved to The Sugar House about 13 years ago, we inherited a big garden on the Sugar Loaf mountain that had poor soil - mostly heavy clay. In fact, in the 19th century, there had been a small brickworks on the hummocky front garden; wherever we tried to put in a fork or spade, we turned up kiln furniture and wonky bricks without frogs (those are the depressions in modern bricks, by the way - not the amphibians).

So a pristine bowling green was out of the question. Not that we wanted one. Instead, we built some raised beds stepping up one slope, put in our own good compost and started to grow a wide variety of veg. Great. But that left a large expanse of grass - some of it wild species. And plenty of weeds. What to do? One day I had an inspiration: why not make a wildflower meadow?

We all know that bees are in serious decline, with many suffering from the parasite veroa, and others - especially where lots of agricultural chemical sprays are used, sometimes behaving strangely or even abandoning their hives and seemingly losing the will to live. Helping bees to prosper isn't just a fluffy, do-gooder fancy. No less than Albert Einstein said that, if bees disappeared, "man would have only four years of life left." Bees not only pollinate flowers for our food production, but also help the plants to set seed and reproduce. If that process fails, oxygen-producing plants will die out, and oxygen levels will plummet. Starve or asphyxiate. Take your choice.

Get rid of your "green desert".

Whether you live in a city, a suburb or a rural area, chances are that you have at least a patch of grass you call "a lawn" - even if it's more dandelion and creeping buttercup than grass. Well, what do you do with it? Someone in your family cuts it. Over and over, while cursing the task and using up energy and useful time. And how much joy does this lawn provide? How many times a year do you actually get out there in your deck chair? How many cookouts or ball games has it seen? My bet is that it's just a chore waiting to happen. And what's more, it's a green desert - a blank green carpet devoted to one or two species of grass.

Frequently cut lawns are useless to bees, butterflies - or pretty much any living creature except us. But when you convert that sorry space to wildflowers and wild grasses, a very quick and astonishing transformation takes place. Suddenly you have that amazing thing our grandparents and all their forebears lived with: biodiversity. Bumble and honey bees; beetles and butterflies, moths and all sorts of bee-imitating pollinating flies, plus toads, bats, small mammals, owls and other birds. Sit back and be amazed as they discover your little piece of paradise. They'll just appear out of nowhere, buzzing, fluttering, swooping and springing - all after flower nectar, seeds - or each other.

And as for the mix of plants in your meadow - well, that's up to you, and the soil you have. But whatever wildflowers and grasses you introduce, you will be doing Ma Nature a big favour. In a good wildflower meadow - large or small - you may have 50 species within a single square meter - and as many as 150 overall.

My own efforts have been assisted by Mr. Mole, who doesn't mind bashing his nose against all the brick rubble and heavy clay, it seems. Week after week, he turns that mess into beautifully milled heaps of tilth that I simply flatten a little to sow my seeds. And after just three years, I have a fabulous wildflower retreat where I can sit, surrounded by cornflowers, poppies, yellow hay rattle, Mayweed, purple knapweed, and so many more flowers and wonderful grasses. I even have rare corncockles and other endangered species right here. We have created a tiny nature reserve - and it is ravishing!

Very little maintenance

And if all that isn't enough to convince you to have a go, my friends, then reflect on the fact that the efforts and resources you expend on mowing endlessly can be replaced by a tiny bit of digging. It's not necessary to strip the ground, either. Just cut a few patches each spring or autumn out of the grass, rough up the soil (but do not fertilise), sow seeds and cover very lightly. Yes, you need to cut the meadow twice a year (by strimmer is fine), and when you do, leave a few areas untouched so late insects can go on feeding.

Then, like me, you can enjoy the inner glow of doing something good for the world and its wildlife while thrilling to the sight of clouds of Holly Blues and Gatekeepers pirouetting above the blossoms. And all for the price of a few packets of seeds. So grow your own delight, starting right now. I promise you, it will also make the neighbours very envious!

Find out more by doing an online search for "wildflower meadows" or "wildflower seeds". Have a look at: www.meadowmania.co.uk, http://apps.rhs.org.uk and www.wildflowershop.co.uk

Winter of our Discontent?

2010-11-15T16:01:00.001Z

The first hard frosts and fears of future "austerity" have Britain in their grip. As you wake in the dark early morning, fuzzy with sleep, shivering, trying to find a missing slipper and dreading the day's long list of tasks, you may be half listening to the news on a BBC radio station (hopefully The Today Programme, Radio 4, best of them all).

This morning, assailed by stories about Ireland's mounting sovereign debt, public sector job cuts and the usual doom and gloom, I heard the Beeb presenter say something I couldn't quite believe. Apparently, the U.K. government has asked the National Office of Statistics to measure our citizenry's "wellbeing and happiness". Pardon?

Wellbeing - meaning, I assume, both physical and mental health, fine. But how can someone even begin to measure happiness? And then I remembered Bhutan. This smallish country of surprising contrasts lies wedged between the Tiger economies of India and China and emerging states like Bangladesh and West Bengal. Bhutan isn't rich. Per capita GDP is only $1400 - about £900. Nor is it especially healthy. Life expectancy is only 55 years. Its largely Buddhist and Hindu populace has a literacy rate of only 47%, and to an outside observer, life in this landlocked, Himalayan kingdom seems to be almost as much of a struggle as it has been for centuries.

And yet, Bhutan has been declared one of the happiest nations in the world. Back in 1972, its enlightened king, Jigme Singye Wangchuck coined the term "Gross National Happiness" or GNH, and stated that he intended to make it his remit to pursue the highest possible GNH for his people. His son and successor, King Jingme Dorji Wangchuck today carries on this tradition as figurehead of a state that held its first democratic elections in 2007.

But what is GNH? Well, rather than simply looking at how much money people have, how many gadgets they own or how well-educated they are, Bhutan's leaders believe in a holistic assessment where both society's stage of development and its citizen's wellbeing and happiness aim to achieve a balance between material and spiritual benefits. Its four pillars are: sustainable development; preservation and promotion of cultural values; conservation and cherishing of the natural environment; and establishment of good governance.

Gross National Happiness isn't some vague, Pollyanna-ish, let's-hope-for-the-best approach. There are careful surveys and statistics measuring every factor, including:
- Economic Wellness - such things as consumer debt, income distribution and the ratio of average income to the consumer price index.
- Environmental Wellness - looking at traffic, pollution, noise, erosion, deforestation, etc.
- Physical Wellness - statistical measurements of health metrics such as severe illnesses
- Mental Wellness - direct surveys of citizens, including use of anti-depressants and numbers of psychiatric patients.

If this is the sort of audit that may be done on Britain, what kind of GNH might we achieve? It was back in 1972, while Bhutan's king was formulating his vision of a happier country, that I arrived in the U.K. The miners were on strike, fetid, uncollected rubbish lay heaped up in the streets and folks went to work just three days a week, because there wasn't enough electricity to light offices, due to the coal shortage. And yet, I constantly encountered jolly Brits telling me, "Oh, this is nothing. We'll get through, don't you worry. Things were a lot worse back in the War." That stiff upper lip, let's-all-pull-together attitude. Mrs. Miniver on speed. Again and again I heard how, after years of rationing, people were healthier - and in many ways, happier than ever before - or since. Rose-tinted glasses? Or common sense?

Most of us have been through hard times before. We will get through this. What's more, for many creative people - artists, photographers, writers, craftsmen - seeking spiritually enriching experiences like a daily dose of nature's beauty counts for more than the latest shiny, shiny consumer nonsense. Austerity may be just another term for "a time to reflect on what really matters". As long as we have the power and freedom to think and create, the chance to share our humanity with friends and family, and the ability to laugh at the foolishness of the world (and ourselves), we can count ourselves as rich, well - and truly happy by anyone's measure.

Are You Somebody's Fool?

2010-09-22T11:29:00.000+01:00

One day years ago, my husband and I were driving around Wiltshire, where we then lived. I remember we had stopped at a traffic light in the quirkily-named hamlet of Thingley (some day I may write about that useful word "Thing" and its origins) just where the arch of I.K. Brunel's railway bridge narrows the road to one lane.

To my great delight, the car in front had a sticker in its rear window which said, "All men are jerks, and my husband is their King!" I laughed so much that I wept and then succumbed to a bout of painful hiccoughs. My husband was a bit sniffy and said it served me right. Maybe he wanted to be King. I don't know.

Let me say from the off - to avoid any suggestion of sexism in this blog, that obviously, I've since interpreted "men" as descriptive of humankind and all its fuzzy genders.

In a way, it's true. We're all "jerks". Everybody makes mistakes. And some are whoppers. We let our youthful tsunami of hormones convince us we are "in love" and later pay the price of heartbreak, loneliness or decades saddled with an unsuitable partner. We allow insurance salesmen to sell us policies that are essentially worthless. Hey, we had a pension that was supposed to pay off our mortgage. It was with a highly-respected company called Equitable Life. And you know the rest. Disaster. But at the time it seemed like a good idea, a plausible course of action.

So some mistakes, some "jerky" choices can be forgiven on the basis of biology or insufficient information. And we usually do our best to learn from these sad experiences and to avoid making them again (unless we're deeply masochistic).

But there's another category of dumb and dumber that you and I can't wriggle out of so easily. Abe Lincoln famously said something along the lines of, "You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time." I wish this quotation could be branded on the foreheads of all politicians and financial "professionals".

What Lincoln didn't mention is that you can fool one person every single day of a lifetime big time stylie and get away with it. Know who that one person is? It's you. And it's me. We are constantly fooling ourselves that we have time to do the things we really yearn to do "one day". Only one day never comes. We are the great procrastinators, the masters of the Good Excuse. "I'm too busy with commercial work to go on a proper photo shoot." "I want to be better known, but marketing gets in the way of my creativity." "I'll get back to my painting next year."

And before you know it, you're old. Or bitter, because other creative people have achieved what you didn't. Or simply too wrapped around with the sticky web of self-justfication to move a muscle.

But mercifully, human beings are capable of change. As the writer George Elliot said, "It is never too late to be what you might have been." So here are a couple of little fireflies to keep in a jar to light you on your way (I hope). Last week, a fine photographer for whom we've made prints wrote to say farewell. Both her parents have passed on and recently, her husband's dad died. They stopped in their tracks and took a hard look at what really mattered to them. And then they did something very brave.

"We sold our house last year and now we are selling all of our belongings for our personal adventure to travel the world. ...we decided life is just too short." Just imagine the photos this lady is going to take!

Will they ever regret not having lots of material things and the security of their comfort zone? Or will they become rich beyond calculation through the experiences, people and glorious imagery of other cultures? What do you think? I think they're nobody's fool.

Artists & Photographers: Dig this treasure!

2010-09-07T17:01:00.002+01:00

Time Team happens to be one of my favourite TV programmes. Maybe yours too? I can’t tear myself away as the trowels scrape away centuries of dirt to reveal fragments of pots still bearing the fingerprints of their ancient makers, delicate Roman brooches or gold coins, as shiny as the day they were struck. The faces of the archaeologists tell you exactly how it feels to discover something really special: it’s thrilling!

I haven’t felt that way about anything on the Web for a long time. But a couple of weeks ago, while ambling around various artists’ website looking at links to content they love and recommend, I struck the online equivalent of the Sutton Hoo hoard. My exact co-ordinates: http://kirstyhall.co.uk

Bristol-based Kirsty Hall describes herself as a curator, artist and “purveyor of mad, obsessive projects”. What modesty. My friends, Kirsty is a one-woman inspiration machine for creative people. And she writes like a friggin’ dream.

Kirsty’s got gold for you.

At the heart of Kirsty Hall’s site are tons of free resources and blogs on both practical and emotional topics that touch the working lives of just about every artist. The majority of these are also helpful to absolutely anyone interested in making the most effective use of the Internet; Kirsty also offers (paid) coaching on a one-to-one basis.

Let me give you a flavour of her content. Titles include, “8 Excuses Artists Make for Not Having a Website”; “The Tortured Artist Myth”; “How to Package Works”; and the feisty “Enough Already – or why you shouldn’t write ‘art wank’”. I told you you’d enjoy her writing!

My entry point to the Artists’ Online Series was “Why Artists Should Blog”. I admit that I began reading as a well-balanced person, i.e. one with a chip on each shoulder. Blogging was not something that appealed to me. I felt it was for a younger generation that was “into social media” in a way Salt of the Earth is not. But as I read, I could feel my resistance dribbling away like a melting ice lolly.

“Why Artists Should Blog” made so many excellent points. O.K. some may seem obvious, but they still needed saying. Blogging reminds people that you exist. It gets you “out of the garret” and connects you with other artists and potential buyers on a worldwide basis. Subtly and over time, blogging also strengthens your self-confidence and helps your unique “voice” emerge. But what you may not have considered is that new content on your website helps search engines like Google “see” you. And the more frequently you refresh it, and the more visitors you attract, so the whole process gains momentum that can bring you and your art (or photos) to the notice of exactly the people you want to reach. Blogging is also inexpensive – except in terms of time, and I’m reliably told it can be fun.

It’s better to travel hopefully than to arrive

Just remember – blogging is an evolutionary process that begins to live a life of its own. So enter into it with the attitude of a walker setting out on a pleasant stroll that doesn’t have a single, known destination. It may bring you work opportunities and sales. Or your blog might just connect you with a load of new colleagues and friends. Maybe you’ll blog to document the development your latest project. Or perhaps it will become your own, private soapbox for expressing opinions. You could even set up a series of tutorial blogs and link them to video spots on YouTube. The Blog is your oyster. And if you hate oysters, make it your jam doughnut instead and inject it with your favourite prose flavours.

As for us at Salt of the Earth, well, we’ve been offering freebie resources and advice for years. So maybe our blogs – of which this is the very first – may launch themselves into some different directions. One we’ll certainly try - mentioned in another excellent Kirsty piece, is the blog that champions and celebrates others. Rick Stein has his “Food Heroes”, so why shouldn’t Salt of the Earth celebrate its “Web Heroes”?

Oh, blimey. Guess what? We’ve already done it. Web Hero number one: Kirsty Hall. She’s a bit of a treasure. And one we really dig.