I have always lived a chaotic life, and the last few weeks are no exception. I seem to attract noise. I always have. I don't quite know why. As soon as I sit down, something demands my attention. As soon as I fall asleep, my brain wakes me with a 'to do' list. And since Adrian and I announced to the world that we were republishing The Rock and Poisoned Rock by Robert Daws and launching the new Killing Rock the chaos has upped a level. Our daily lives have become a rather pleasant tornado (that is not an oxymoron - it really is a pleasant tornado).
Our lives were a whirlwind before - but the wind has upped in speed and it is now whooshing around our heads quite severely. We are busy, but we both love it and thrive on it. We talk about Hobeck before breakfast and over breakfast, at lunchtime, after dinner, at 3am when we wake up at the same time (we seem to be good at doing that), again at 5am while munching on chocolate orange slices, in the car, in the kitchen, in the garden and now (thanks to lockdown easing) in bookshops.
As a result of the pleasant tornado circling us now, every day is different. Each day presents new challenges (and we are currently facing a whopper). But, most importantly, every day brings us joy, in the form of chats with our authors current and future, Twitter tweeting, Facebook facing, learning new skills (I made my first ever Facebook Ad last week), reading new submissions (there may be one or two in the pipeline that we are rather excited about) and communications with all sorts of random people from bloggers to journalists to fans to friends (I simply adore these people!).
Changing the subject slightly, I have this theory. (I have a Masters by Research in Art and Design so I have lots of theories.) I have a theory that people with chaotic minds like their abstract art to be minimalist, calming and soothing. People who go about life taking everything in their stride - the sort of people who sleep well - like their abstract art to be busy, messy and full of detail. It might come as no surprise that I am most definitely a Rothko over a Pollock. Pollock gives me anxiety. Rothko quietens my mind. One of the most profound art experiences I have ever had was in New York. I can't now remember which museum it was. This particular museum houses what was called the 'Rothko Room'. Imagine entering a room with surround sound Rothkos. I didn't want to leave. It had a metaphysical feel to it. It was supposed to do that. It achieved its aim. Now imagine entering a room with surround sound Pollocks.
I've just asked Adrian the same question: are you a Rothko or a Pollock? His initial reaction was to look rather bemused as to why I was asking him about art. However, with no hesitation, he tells me is a Rothko too. I wasn't in the least bit surprised. My theory holds. When we get our first real office, perhaps we need to obtain a random Rothko for the back wall. If only. I guess I might have to paint one myself.
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