The beginning of something beautiful.

Welcome!
Finally, some of you may say, I have started my blog. It's true I have been procrastinating for a long, long time. But here I am....at the beginning,
I guess you are all wondering what the Inn has behind its great doors of creativity. Firstly, let me say that whatever is shared here is an outpouring of my inner me. Not the me that is sometimes overly accommodating, the me that conforms, or the me that compromises. What you will read is pure Den and I can't promise that it will always appeal to everyone. It will be real.
My love of colour will of course be paramount, but so will my obsession with shape and texture, fabrics, jewellery and all things visual. You will discover that food and nutrition feature high up on the list of loves, along with music, travel, art, babies, laughter, my family, a nice cup of tea, Moroccan EVERYTHING, fragment sentences and people watching. A good book, singing, writing and gardening also ring my bell. Laughter, is essential in my world and I spend a great deal of my time in my head giggling at nonsensical thoughts and visions.....so be on the lookout for those!
So here we go....wish me luck.

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Broken free

I made an angel. Created her out of clay. Painstakingly I sculpted and moulded her. I loved her. I loved her heavy wings, they way they sheltered her and protected her heart. I loved that tiny heart, the way she looked down on to it "I will always look after you" she whispered, "you are safe". Until the day she broke. My son rang me on my way home. His voice was shaky, apprehensive. "Something terrible has happened" he mumbled. Moving straight into mother mode, I panicked. "What is it?? Are you ok??" "I broke her...I didn't mean to... she fell...I tried to catch her...I wasn't quick enough" Oh My god... who?, where? What the?????? "Your angel mum... she smashed!!" The poor boy. He knew I loved her, created her, protected her. But the sense of relief was instant. Just a sculpture, not a life, a girl or an animal. Just a sculpture. It wasn't long however that the realisation of what had just

Spiral Bound

I have a collection of journals. Writing Journals. I do not collect journals; however, journals seem to collect me. It’s true I do write and yes, in journals, however on closer inspection, I own a great many empty journals. Too many. The empty journals are not lying in wait, I did not purchase them knowing that in due course, I would fill their pages with beautiful prose, witty satirical observations, or heartfelt outpourings of emotion. In fact, I did not purchase them at all. The empty journals were gifts. Gifts for a writer. Carefully selected, each one. Some leather, silk and fabric bound. Some hand made with flower pressed paper pages. Recycled, reclaimed, re-purposed. From distant shores, India, England, Thailand. Leaves of possibility, tactile and tempting. I have journals with pages illustrated with moons and mermaids, clouds and clowns, pages tied with ribbons and some with jute. All empty, too beautiful to touch, to fill. When I open their pages…words fail me

North

How is it, that strolling along on our perfect peaceful path, is so much harder than trekking backwards, uphill, blindfolded and in the rain, on some random track to nowhere?? How is it, that we know exactly what to do...but do the opposite? Why do we choose to struggle, push, and deny ourselves the simple truth of who we are? When did we decide that who we really are is not enough, not valuable and is worthless.? Worth less. When I am travelling in the right direction - my direction, I am so happy! When I am happy, I am so giving, so creative, so loving. Anything and everything is possible. Everyone I meet is an opportunity for me to share my joy, my knowledge, my heart. So why is it so hard to stay there. Why do I wander into fear, distrust and such smallness. How come I can bear down, push hard, toughen up and clench my way through self destructive jobs, self created poverty and self abusive inner talk and turn away from my light, love and freedom? Shouldn't play

Muzu Creative

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