Inside: Chaos, time for a clearout.

Inside: Taken fom the top, Gouache - Campo de S Margherita awning - Stretch canvas -
still sound in cubase, the wait .
Filmed a cobweb.
Outside: light dimmed in the afternoon , pale white on grey - then disapeared.

Outside: a strong southerly gale
Inside: it blows through every crack in the house

Inside: Memory Fade

Inside: Finally got the Sicily stuff up on my site www.tomrickman.co.uk.
Had some nice response from the Morgan comunity.
Spent all day on the computor doing web page and listening to my drone music.
Outside: the complete opposite to yesterday, cold wet and dark. Grey sea rolling from the North East.
There was a slight lift in the light in the west late afternoon - I like that kind of thing.

Outside: white lemon light
blue sky blue
porthgwara the rim is a hazed milk lip
still
other worldly
in warm air
a blue heaven
brocaded with pale winter sunlight
through bright

Inside: Working on text for Sicily stuff. Trying to fine tune it so it resembles something not naff. Nice going over it as puts me back there.

Outside: Walk by the rocks, bay full of white horses, easterly wind, salt on the lips.
Light is slowly returning.

Inside: Evening star setting over the trees from the studio. Sky is that pale blue violet, thin but bright.
Seek out the twilight as it compresses the strength of the light, has something to gauge it by (ie encroaching darkness) as opposed to mid day were the light is spread all around. ( In northern climes anyway)
Comparing the bright light of Sicily as opposed to the 'mists of Avalon' at the moment, two different atmospheres, both compelling, one familiar and one desired.

Quite interesting program about Eel Pie Island Twickenham. Thought of my past growing up there, that part of the river, the arched bridge, the swimming pool, the church and the ornamental gardens. Going to play school, the sound of the boatyards and the smell of the river. That shop with deep green doors and wooden counters, selling Britain plastic farm animals, the smell and feel of the plastic.
Memories like paintings.
When reading The Horses Mouth by Joyce Carey always have that place by the river in mind.

Inside Back to the grid