Where no cars go.

Today, in a week, my life be my own again.

The nasties will have flown off back to where they belong... most of them anyway. There will be time for friends and cooking and sleeping well...

The long legged man will walk through my door once more, returned from his long travels. He sends me pictures from a country where most people don't own cars. Can you imagine that?

Cape Town is beautiful today, washed clean after the rains, with a thick lashing of Spring in the air.

A Friday treat: lunch from Jason Bakery. A Buffalo and Thyme sausage roll, piping hot from the oven. And a brownie for dessert. Not just any old brownie.

I sigh to think that Jason never asked me out when we were neighbors. I would have fallen in love with his tattoos and his cooking and become very fat. And if we had married, my name would now be Lily Lilley.

The Pyramid Scheme.

As I write this, I think of what someone said to me today: there is no "I" in team. Well... I disagree. But it's because of the nature of this particular film we're working on. There is so little respect, there are giant egos at work and with that, the abuse of power.

And then I think of what my honey said to me over the phone: "die kak kom van bo af", meaning the shit comes from the top.

Absolutely.

The director is giving the designer a shovel-full of it, so he snaps at me. I want to yelp with the injustice of it all, so I end up snapping at the swing gang. The difference perhaps being that I love those guys. So I apologize. The driver says to me: It's okay Lil, I understand. You know when I get home and my little daughter is noisy, I row with her and I tell her to sit still for just one moment!

That's when it all came crashing down on top of me.

The consequences of everything we do. And say.

I don't want to be a part of this pyramid of shit.

 I had a sweet respite last Saturday, when I went to do a booking with our friend the collector. There were no other customers and it was just like the old days: we sat down with a small, strong cup of coffee and had a bit of a gossip. The weather blew and crashed outside. He told me about his take on fame - that he understands why stars are so difficult.
"If you don't distance yourself and make a stand, people will walk right over you"

I guess. It must be hard to stay nice when you're in a position of power. But what if you weren't even nice to start with?
 

Worry and sleepless nights... white noise helps sometimes - I put on a loop of waves crashing on a beach somewhere and it lulls me for a while.
 

Alas, I will never be this guy, sleeping on the job, on a noisy city street:

Everywhere, the little cars.
They make me smile.
  

How I miss that long-legged man.
He has been away for so long.

This place we call home.

While we go to work and make plots and plans and spend a gazillion dollars, across the road the community of pavement dwellers carry on with their daily life. Since I wrote about them the first time, I've become friendly with them - we greet and talk a little. I'm still not comfortable enough to whip out my camera and photograph them - I just don't have the time to do it properly.

Fridays are bad. There's a lot of drinking and staggering around, badly aimed punches, cursing and the wailing of womenfolk.

Early on Saturday morning, all is peaceful again. He's sitting on his bedroll reading a comic, heating water on a tiny brazier. The woman in the purple sequined dress is fast asleep next to him, her head on his shoulder.

Red Wednesday.

 

Every film that I work on is like a monarchy. Or a bee-hive. There's a king and a queen and a royal family... and then there's us lowly workers buzzing around frantically, trying our best to get everything done properly, without running out of nectar or pollen.

Some kings and queens are much nicer than others.

At the moment I'm watching money disappear, not in a trickle, but in a great gushing river. This is La La Land after all, so it's part of the process. Somehow though, this time, it's hard to watch. It often feels as though things are solely done to pacify the histrionics of the royals. And you know those stories you hear, the ones about the rock stars only wanting bowls of red jelly beans in their dressing rooms? Well, those stories are true, and in this case take that story and multiply it a hundredfold.

Louis Vuitton polka dot pumps: R 9 800.
The matching purse: R 11 500.

There are offers for work after this. People say: go with your gut, trust your instinct.

What if it all feels wrong?

Maybe you can lie under a tree for a few days until something comes along that does feel right.

I can barely wait.

Red Eyes.

A long time ago, someone, somewhere, decided that it was okay to work these kind of hours, with these kind of people, no questions asked. For instance, when you have to wait for the important director on a Saturday, from 14h00 to 23h00. And then have him go off to dinner, with no meeting or apology. And by that time being too tired to be pissed off.

The things that make it worthwhile:

props people walking around with armsfull of plastic crayfish, trailing strings of paper dolls. Dashing to the car in the rain to get the globe and someone singing softly as I walk by: She's got the whole world, in her hands.....

Starting the day with a slice of toast and German Hagebutte spread. Rose hips. The Dolce de Leche of fruit, there's something of the guava there and a hint of the tartness of cooked tomato.
(One wonders where the petals go)

And every morning, those cat paw prints on my windshield.

I found the key.

It was a Saturday for magpies. Buttons and cotton reels at the market. Old enamel plates.

My friend Henri has a shop, the most marvelous shop.

KOÖPERASIE STORIES

is near Franschoek, on the R45.

Beautiful painted furniture from Eastern Europe. Enamel, enamel... mountains of gorgeous Polish enamel to fuel the flames of an obsession. Grain bags from the Ukraine, huge coloured glass vessels, zinc baths, tiny leather shoes for dolls... all the things you never even knew you wanted.

(And on the way to the key, we found an eye.)

Madiba Muti.

Alas and alack, not everyone you meet in this world is nice. Sometimes you have to work with real walnuts. Oh, the nicknames and the things we utter loudly in Afrikaans, right next to those paleface barbarians...
 

So my side project this week was the little poppet below. Stuffed with extra crinkly plastic, he makes a very satisfying sound when prodded. I found sewing with luminous thread quite thrilling. And there's a tiny something hidden deep in his gizzard,
but it's a secret.

Happy Friday 13!

Virgo Delights.

Chairs covered in pink cowhide (with hair!) at Hans Niehaus in Claremont.

A crocheted Impala at Weylandts.

Sleeping animals.

Winter meals. Polenta, roasted butternut and shallots, Bella tomatoes, caramelized Sage butter, pine nuts and Parmiggiano. (On a plate by Spode, retrieved from a shipwreck)

Sunny VW Combi's. I stop to photograph them and people wave. The Frenchman drives by and calls out: Bonjour Cherie!

A bit of whimsy.

Matches from Belgium, family sized avocado pears brought back from Natal.

The way the light shines into the office some days, when the rain isn't crashing down.

When your car feels like home.

Left in the dark of morning, returned in the dark of night.

Hours in my car. Waiting for clearances. Working without a brief. Unexpected complications.

It was a tough week.

A scout went ahead and the pictures he brought back made me cry.

I fell irresistibly in love with a fat orphan baby.

They all made my heart contract.

Again, moments unphotographed: laundry day in Khayelitsha - lines of washing as far as the eye could see, one line containing only leagues of socks, pegged from big to small. Three young men next to the road with tall staffs and a vast herd of assorted dogs. And I told myself, wishfully: next time.