Electric heaters and multiple layers.

I haven't written anything for a while, not online, or in a book, or as a lyric. Starting to get that sinking feeling I get around this time of year where I feel like an impostor, some court jester doing a constant impersonation of myself. People tell you they write songs, diaries or journals for themselves, to hold memories, isn't there always an element of seeking approval? Can you ever really write honestly about yourself if there's a constant feeling that you're trying to portray something, that you want the reader or listener to think of you in a certain way. It makes me terrified of ever uttering a word again, for fear that all I am is the perception I want people to have of me. I'd like to convince myself that there is an essence to who we are. That, despite adapting to others and surroundings, we have a core to us that is strong and true. I desperately want to believe that when stripped of my relationships and interactions, I can still be truly myself.

I think I need to hole up somewhere remote for the winter, possibly every year for the rest of my life. Just to stop me spouting crap like this........

Here's to you, you delicious broad.

The view from the first jetty at Whitlingham.

From this spot I have;

considered letting icy waters fill my lungs

swam with the ducks and lovers

drunk from a solid silver hip flask

shed clothing and skin

celebrated birthdays

chain smoked

formed bonds.

Spring forwards, Fall back.

I've been going through piles of old photographs. Me and my school friends are meeting up for a reunion of sorts, a celebration of 15 years of being friends, and I wanted to find some pictures of us to take along. In the process of this I've found some beautiful things. The photo here for instance, I'm obsessed with it, which is odd as it was taken 10 years before I was born and I have no relationship to either of the people in it. The girl is called Kitty, she was at school with my mother. A few years ago my mum spent a summer looking for her old school friends, they all found each other, except for Kitty. Every photo my parents have of her makes me shiver, I don't know if it's her beauty, or the mystery, the made up stories of what might have become of her that pop into my head. She's like some mythical, ethereal creature. The man in the photograph is called Bruce, he lived with my parents for a while in the late 1970's. He died in a motorbike accident not long after this was taken, my dad has vividly recalled to me many times the knocking on the door, the stern police officer, having to phone Bruce's mother. I'm not sure why I'm writing about this, I think that seeing photos like this make me think about being young and uncertain, then looking back and seeing the fragility of it all.

I'm so acutely aware of time passing, and I wonder how it feels to have this huge expanse of life behind you. My mum's birthday was Tuesday, and today I found this photo of her, she would have been about 15. She was so beautiful, she still is........

I was woken up today by somebody talking sharply on the radio, which made me realise I must have left it on all night, which would explain why my dreams felt a bit like a series of Radio 4 dramas, there was one where I was playing support for Lou Reed but I won't get into that now. After switching it over to my iTunes and trying to get back to sleep, I found myself caught out by the shuffle button. This often happens, because I am a nostalgic fool and so much of the music I love reminds me specifically of a time and place. Today it was demos sent to me by somebody I was desperately trying to be involved with, both romantically and musically. Neither of these things worked out, and I was undeniably very upset about it all. So despite being all fine and settled now, I will never be able to hear his voice singing without feeling like someone is emotionally punching me in the stomach all over again. I think that's what being heartbroken feels like, a good, solid smack in the abdomen. I was talking with my good friend about this the other day, as people who hoard things, both relics and memories. It made me wonder if people like us can ever really have a hope of moving on, considering that a letter, photograph or a song will put us straight back into the midst of it all. However, everyone does this to some degree, no? It's the same with writing a song about something hard and painful, which is what so many songs are about, as performing will always make you think of that something. There's no conclusion to all of this, because there's nothing that I or anybody else can really do about their character. If I wasn't like this, I wouldn't write music, or have boxes full of old love letters, or songs sung by past lovers on my iTunes.

In less rambling news I'm gigging a fair bit over the next couple of months, I try to keep the myspace updated with a list of them. There's a particular exciting one involving Rob Young.....

over and out.

we swam.

With the warmth of a summer.

With the moorish eyed inhabitants of a cold broad.

With a clear water that clouded senses.

limbo.

It's been a while since I felt like I had anything to say. No matter how many people tell you that graduating c

auses some kind of slump in both creativity and general motivation, it still hits you like a punch in the abdomen. It becomes apparent that to successfully survive the process of finishing a degree, you need to be the type of person who goes on to grab hold of what they want, before the stale feeling sets in. I'm not like that, lots of people I know aren't like that, in fact I'm bewilder

ed by people who know what it is they want to be doing with their lives. So with this in mind I think I have to have the confidence to try things, and hope that I find something that will make me (and maybe some other human beings) happy. On the subject of happiness, things are ok. A lack of student loan forced me to move into the spare room at my parent's flat, which sounds shoddy but is made better by the fact it looks like this....

Yesterday I went to see the sea, and some clever trees. Blackberries were picked, jam shall be made. I woke up with a cold, but it could have been the cider.

Last week I wrote a letter to my friend Dan, then I finished a song I've been working on since I got back from the Green Man festival. It's written from the perspective of an old woman who was once the lover of the green man, it's a bit like she's looking out at the beauty of her surroundings and trying to invite him in once again to reminisce about their lives and loves. It sound a bit ridiculous, I think I was just trying to imagine being old and how I'd like

to end my days somewhere beautiful, looking back at the things that matter.

it lives....

....www.millyhirst.co.uk

Degree show up, a bottle of wine drunk, frogs jumping in my pond, Joanna Newsom on my stereo.....this is the life.

I can be fairly sure...

...that I won't ever feel this tired again, at least I hope not. People tell you the end of degrees are stressful, particularly creative degrees as there's an exhibition to go up on top of your other work load. You smile and agree, and say how awfully time consuming it must be whilst secretly berating them for being an ungrateful, lazy student. Well turns out they were right....they were all so very right. I've been locked in a dark space listening to Atlas Sounds and inhaling paint fumes for two days, and by night time I am trying to pull together a website (with some extraordinary Flash skills from my housemate). Things are going to come together, they have to come together, and then I will sleep and drink in whichever order I can muster. I will stop moaning now, here's something happy;

A man with amazing hair who is the lead singer of Endless Boogie, who I saw at ATP festival last weekend, thoroughly marvelous all round..

The panic has officially set in..

...or it could just be jitters from the amount of caffeine I'm consuming at the moment. I went to check out my space for the degree show again today, after being up nearly all night writing lists of pro's and con's for Plasma screens vs Projectors. The space looks good, a lick of black paint and some cleaning and it will really start to come together. Projector won the death match (not to imply that I ceremoniously had the plasma screen killed....although that does sound tempting) so I've been positioning it for the last two hours and testing film footage. I have so much to do before next Friday, I don't even want to think about it. This week I've been working on digitally editing some of the photos of the dust collection to put them in the show, I kind of want them to look like photograms but less, 'clean', I think? Here's a couple..

Heading to ATP on Friday, which is going to be incredible as long as I am sorted enough to not be in a state of mental hysteria all weekend.

We've got to get out of this place.

We took an 'unchartered voyage' out of the city to give Hester a hand with her latest performance art piece, which was incredible by the way. You can find out what Hester does here....
http://www.hesterdraycott.co.uk/ and keep an eye out for any performances coming up, they are an amazing experience.

The space that was used for the performance was also really interesting, a concrete bridge with traffic streaming over head and all this beautiful scenery right next to it.Aside from all the art malarky, it was good to get some fresh air. I walked along the river bank as far as it would take me and relished half an hour of simplicity; no degree show planning, no frantic editing, just me and a river and some cold spring sunshine.

More projected dust.

Our country may not always be governed in the way that we would like it to be. We might have never felt as under represented as we do now. We might not even agree with all of the fundamental morals and policies of any one party but we are lucky to have the democracy we do, and we have a responsibilty to allow our voices to be heard.....however insignificant you think that voice is. So go vote, and vote wisely.

New website ideas..

The ever elusive website, which I'm trying to create to encapsulate the project, is nearly on it's way. Sincerely hoping to have it up and running by the weekend. You will be able to check it out at www.millyhirst.co.uk....

In the mean time I'm still finding it hard to choose a layout, I never was much cop at fancy design. Also stumped with decisions for the degree show, include dust samples and documentation? Show film on plasma, projector, iMac...? Brain...failing..........

New series.....

Statement for degree catalogue;

'My work is concerned with the elemental nature of existence. I am fascinated by what we leave behind in every room or place we have inhabited. Layers of dust sift over the edges of books, on the periphery of furniture, in the corners. Hair and skin ground down into a fine powder, an ongoing residue. The beauty of dust as it catches the light, watching the particles float, swirl and fall evokes contemplation. We are so quick to discard our dust, and yet it remains

The project has slowly become an obsession. The very nature of collecting something that is intrinsically everywhere has meant I am continually equipped and prepared; seeing how the dust differs from person to person, place to place, filming it when falling. I am intrigued by the similarities and differences between the samples. My knowledge of the individual contributors leads me to search for identifiable features.

One obsession leads to another; a personalized act of the documentation and categorisation of the samples, seeking order from chaos. The status of my obsession becomes elevated in the process. The particles become evidence, the mundane is rendered special. That which is around us but which we often overlook, becomes precious.'

taking advantage...

...of a late shift at work to take some more photographs in projection, this time with different samples. Recieved a couple of packets of dust in the post, lovely stuff.

what remains...

'Avoid the world, it's just a lot of dust and drag and means nothing in the end.'
Jack Kerouac

Field Trips.

Spent yesterday going to Cromer to help with Bryony's project on journeys and trains. It's very odd what journeys remind me of. Such as spending the first year of my degree going back and forth between Cambridge and Norwich, feeling like two seperate entities, two different lives. By the end of that year I had memorised every station announcement, I knew all the prices for the AMT coffee stand by heart, I'd spoken to an average of 4-5 strangers a week on each journey. It felt as if I had cried, shouted, laughed, slept, worked and day dreamed on every train in those two stations. This is what I thought of as we sat watching the platform slip away yesterday.

I took some dust with me, a sample from a Miss Celia White as it happens (thanks Celia). It seemed interesting to put a natural material back into a natural environment and it looking completely out of place....

A Sketchbook of Mostly 'To Do' Lists;

Sunday mornings.

She wakes up at 8am, eats 3 bananas and spends her morning filming dust falling and catching light from a projector. Any doubts of her insanity that might have creeped into the mind of the projectionist vanish, he genuinely seems concerned for her mental state. She returns to her cave, Photoshops images of her housemates onto prawns, laughs a bit too hysterically at bad jokes on the radio and begins referring to herself in the third person.....

Website ideas..