A page from my sketch pad - bridges, growth and trees
Things have been difficult – three times summoned to the hospital. Three times to be with Peat’s mum to help her passing – and she has pulled through each time. She is tough and fights. She fights everything – she will not take her medication and yet she will not give in, fighting fighting fighting to the end. We are there with her as much as we can be. We drive miles through beautiful highland mountains and dash along beside the gleaming lochs, fleet in our lives. She has had hers and it makes us evaluate and examine our own. There is hard work ahead, not for the faint-hearted.
The care she is receiving in the hospital is a real leveler. These amazing nurses are so kind and skilled – I feel humbled in their presence, they are indeed angels.
Life is short and we only have one go at it. Go and get on with yours – quick! Quick – do it now!
Latest Painting in the making Themes of Tenderness inspired by a pot by Eric James Mellon
When the sun shines suddenly on a dark day
sunshine beautiful sunshine you are making me feel faint overwhelming, the warmth of you, never such warmth enormous closing my eyes there is a fragrance, drowsy drowsy I am sleepy now, no not sleeping: the car floats diving I sink lost i was standing but now i am leaning and it's good against cool wood your warmth and i fall and fall and fall and i don't know anything at all except warm like swimming in the sky words all around and i have to do that sleep in your sunshine in my world is good when it shines orange in my eyelids heavy and closing but not so drowsy now i am awake but i will not open my eyes ever again until I can forget the places I have been without you
Drawing in oil pastels of the pylons which carry our communications and power through the hills and forestsA Real favourite poem of mine by Lorca: I have made a lot of work and paintings around this poem in the past, and I think of it a lot at this time of year as the ferns begin to stand upright and tall, still with a little crown unfolding in a spiral at their tips
In the sweet cabinette of wood
your voice watered the dunes of my heart.
South of my feet it was spring,
and North of my forehead, flowering fern.
In the small space a pinetree of light
sang with no songs of dawn and sown field,
and for the first time my tears captured
crowns of hope on the roof.
Voice, sweet and far away, poured out for me.
Voice, sweet and far away, savoured by me.
Far away and sweet, swooning voice.
Far away as a doe, wounded and dark.
Sweet as a sob in a snowstorm.
Far away and sweet and right to the heart.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Sonnets of Dark Love
The Poet Speaks to his love on the Telephone
Translation Eva Loewe and Noel Cobb
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