Wednesday June 15, 2005
I looked out of the window just a little while after breakfast and gave a big sigh.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s started in to rain.”
“Not yet, but it’s going to.”
“Ah. No outing for you, then.”
“Nope. I have to pop into Spilsby but it’s not a painting morning.”
“Perhaps it’ll brighten up this afternoon.”
Later on, round about elevenses, I glanced out of the window and sighed again.
“That was the postman driving past. Looks like being another day before my magnifying glass arrives. At least.”
“Just not your day, is it?”
“As bad luck would have it, fate is not on my side. Not today, anyway.”
“Tell you what. Let’s skip elevenses, have an early lunch, and perhaps it’ll be bright enough and dry enough for you later on.”
When I staggered into the kitchen at about five o’clock, my nap having over-run, it was dry. By the time I’d gulped a coffee and got my legs working, it was quite bright. Darn it. Too late to be useful.
So I took my easel out into the back garden, set up, and spent a happy hour and a half working on an old practice canvas, just a small thing, too small for the kind of work I really want to do. But it got me out into the air, and the sun, and I felt better for it. I’ll keep working on that canvas when I can’t get out, even though it’s a subject—a townscape—for which I have little enthusiasm just now. Ye gods and little fishes but it’s good to feel good, squishy oil paint under the brush again!
The important thing is to be out, breathing fresh air and enjoying whatever sunshine there may be around, and keeping hands, arms and shoulders working. All I can effectively do at this stage is to arrange the marriage and hope that love, and artistry, will blossom in time.
|The snapper snapped
Graham’s PDA photo