25 09 07

‘ and the brine shrimps make the the falmingoes pink ‘
like blotting paper

Spent today, my last day in Marsala, painting.

Feel quite ambiguous about this trip, i shouldn’t compare it with the one in 06 but I do. It seems more concious in a way, more contrived.
Trying to develop an idea and relaitionship with a place I feel drawn to.
Trying to make the work more than a series of snapshots.
Being away from the usual props makes one ponder more, inbetween these moments of experiance.

Had a very strong dream about dads face the other night. I could see it clearly, his bright eyes and smiling face, his wrinkles like maps.

Wagner stayed in the Grand Hotel et des Palmes in Palermo and finished Parsifal off in 1882.

Leaving, it all boils down to giving the cooker and sink a once over, sweeping the floor and making sure there are no embarrasing stains left.
Feel the need to talk some english with someone.
Palermo and the ferry tommorrow via Gibelina.

Quite excited about getting in the car and driving once again, the Morgan has this effect on me ( only those who know understand ) - its a car thing.

Weather feels quite fresh at the moment.
The climate has changed.
Autumn folds the leaves - as a book
irons the light sharper
cooler like a calculated crease
leaves as pages, as minutes
to find an inkwell
inscribe on this time
dipped an ink of night
or a busy biro like morning coffee
these gaps i find
and wish to make wider
a hole through a fence.