....#hooterexplosion
Guest blog by Sarah Smith, The Dartmoor Artist
A half-drunken mug sits with tea spattered marks against a pile of school books, an old laptop, a thirsty plant and a ketchup covered table. My kitchen table. It feels as if my greatest achievement is having drunk HALF of that tea as the juggling act continues during Lockdown 3. Wow that line rhymed. I didn’t intend it to, but hey maybe I’m a poet?
I look at the mug which reads beauTEAful and realise I don’t find the pun amusing. I’ve just helped my son decipher a maths problem about pens and corresponding pen pots. I honestly couldn’t care less about the pens, nor the pots they’re supposed to sit in. If anything, I envision the pens in a hot tub, towels on heads, drinking a large gin whilst prune puckered skin is lapped by hot soapy bubbles. I hate those bloody pens even more now. My son is seven and needs me more than ever as I negotiate my way through google classroom and trawl through home learning projects. This is not where I want to be. It’s not where any of us want to be is it?
I guess this is the time to introduce myself. My name is Sarah Smith and yes when my husband and I check into a hotel, a receptionist has been known to say “Ahhh Mr and Mrs SMITH”, followed by “IS IT?” as they imply we’re having a sordid affair. My goodness checking into a hotel feels a million miles away from this kitchen table. Chocolate on pillows and towels shaped like swans my arse, it’s more like a lego brick to the foot, a kick to the crotch and papier mache animals for school projects. I digress.
I am an artist and author and my life over the last five years has been met with a fair few challenges. Thankfully the jewels in the ‘crown of challenge’ is that I am a mother to two extraordinary children, wife to a man who looks a little like Hugh Jackman and fur mum to a sprollie puppy. I live in what can only be described as a menagerie, on a farm in a little enclave of Dartmoor. Yes there’s a waft of cow most days, yes my go to footwear is wellies and yes it’s absolute mayhem.
My whole world changed in 2017 when I sneezed in bed one morning and prolapsed the discs in my lower spine. I know right? I didn’t even know you could do that! The, let’s call it a “Hooter explosion” led to me spending nearly a year of my life lying on the living room floor. At the time my son was only four and daughter eight. I couldn’t really move, nor feel my legs and I was a HOT MESS.
“Why are you on the floor all the time mummy? Mummy can you play catch with me? Mummy can’t you just get up? Mummy what’s wrong? Mummy can you lift me up? Mummy why are you crying? Mummy do you need your medicine? Mummy I love you”.
I didn’t have a bandage – it was hard for them to understand what was happening. It was hard for all of us. Hugh Jackman was chef, cleaner, carer and ‘picker upper’. The days were depressingly long and I lost my spark.
I could describe every single nook and cranny of my ceiling. I could tell you some incredible tales about Harry the house spider and the adventures I’d create for him to take my mind off the pain. Alas I don’t think Harry’s stories are suitable unless you’re electrocuting yourself with a tens machine, spaced off your t**ts on painkillers and unable to feel your legs. Still, do get in touch if you want the podcast of Harry’s Skydive Episode 1.
So there I was, lying on the floor with Harry aloft, two kids running amok and Hugh my full time carer. The pain unbearable and guilt palpable.
Turns out for Christmas 2018 I got spinal surgery. I’d have preferred a crap Christmas jumper.
After the operation I was a complete mess. I thought I’d leave hospital in a Mary Poppins hop, skip and a ‘spit spot’ style. Alas I left looking and feeling like Mrs Overall.
It took a long time to accept that I was never going to be the ‘me’ I was before and to be honest it was a low ebb that flowed fast for a very long time.
It was during this time of brokenness that I took up painting and drawing. Quite often I’d write swear words down alongside illustrations of things I could spy out of the window. I’m not sure my daughter ever really understood why mummy’s illustrated Robin was called ‘Dickhead’, but I soon learnt to get an art folder to house the ‘work’.
Before long I was making things that friends wanted to buy, I was creating work I was proud of AND it was making me happy, something I hadn’t really had during the “Spinal surgery S**t-Show”. I grew a little stronger each day and resigned myself to getting better slowly. Recovery was tough, but art became my sanctuary.
So bravely back in 2018, I began my art business. From there it’s led me to make some braver choices. My paintings have travelled all over the UK and I’ve established my business alongside my love of writing. I self-published my first book last year and it’s now travelled all over the world!
I can tell you now that NONE of this would have happened had I not had the “hooter explosion”. Absolutely NO WAY. I can say that now. I AM THANKFUL FOR WHAT HAPPENED. Maybe less so on days when the pain comes back, but I am thankful for how it has changed my life.
I suppose I just believe that there is always something we can be thankful for, even if it doesn’t feel it at the time. Even when the lights have been turned off and you’ve kicked the coffee table. Even when the lego brick is stood upon, or when you spill your brew down your top and shout “BOOB BURNAGE!!!”
We all have something we can be thankful for, even in these weird days. So, I encourage you to find it. Consider yourself Indiana Jones in the temple of doom – it’s still possible to find joy from the crusty cup of life…and things are crusty aren’t they? Things aren’t easy.
It’s at this point I turn to the thirsty plant on my table and conclude that I feel just as dried up. Poor old leaves, in desperate need of a soak, clawing for the light of day. As I take in the plant, rose coloured pink buds are clinging on for dear life and I find myself considering that despite its possible sojourn to the compost bin, there’s still very much a hope it’ll make it.
I am thankful for this little plant.
We can always find something to bring to the table – even if it’s only ketchup. My point? Allow yourself to feel all the feels during this time. Soak up what you need to get you through and know that there is always something you can be thankful for. Life will take us to dark places, it’s up to us to claw for the light. And hey, if you really can’t find anything to be thankful for, I’ll leave you with one excellent piece of perspective. One teeny tiny pube can bring down an entire restaurant. If that’s not inspiring I don’t know what is.
Stay safe and sending you all a big squeeze.
Sarah x
About the Author
Sarah Smith is a self-taught artist and lives on a farm with her family, looking after a menagerie of beasts – a beautiful herd of Devon red ruby cattle, sheep, & chickens…