writing

Mornings

It was too cold and I wanted to stay under the covers. I don't like getting up but I love getting away. Being in love with the cold morning outside. Even though it is summer the wind is fierce and the sun is pale. Sometimes the light warms you, and fools you into thinking it is hot – a hot day. But all it takes is a cloud or stroll into the shadows and the truth of the place, the real cold, hits you skin and deep. But that sky is something else, that morning sky! There are many kinds of sky haze. The haze of the setting sun as the mountains disappear into golden silt. Morning haze is different. It is mist and sleep. It is clouds stretched thin and spread clumpy and bumpy like the surface of new ice cream. Shadows are long and blue. The grass is also blue. As is the road, my skin, the lake, the trees. It is the bluest part of the day. It is cobalt blue. Twilight is more like ultramarine but flatter. A colour I can't remember the name of. I like knowing the names of colours. Or rather – I like seeing colours out there and knowing how to mix them. When I see the purple I remember it for later. When I know that cobalt, it will come with me to my new studio.

Bustled

It has been a time since my last post, I have been feeling confused, things seem to slip my mind;But I really do feel this is necessary for clarity of thought and insight. Thoughts get muddled and bustled and re-ordered into new and fully realized ideas, something Ruth told me once.

2011

I spent the weekend painting on the skirting board at my studio, it is a nice space, not cozy like a cave but still safe; it is difficult to breath there. I have made a list of all the work I should have done by the end of summer. Its encouraging to read through.