another day in the saltmine

After a startling visit by a blanket of fog, today was hard and bright.
I found it hard to shake off the night previous, a literary event featuring the worst speaker I have ever heard, (how DID he manage a whole book?), and some unpleasant conflict prior to that.
Nonetheless.

Thursday is studio day, in the nest of fish.
S and O were there, making a boat to fly in the sky.

By the middle of the day the sun streamed in. Listened to the patter of their voices: I love nothing better than to have a conversation to listen to, and none better than theirs, really. They have low, pretty voices. O has shaved his very nice head, and now looks like a durian fruit.

After some stand up attack at the easel, I sat down with my brush in my hand on the sofa, ostensibly to think.
Their words bounced like a stream on pebbles.
At some point, my world slid into dreamland. I dreamt I was drawing with liquid paper all over the canvas, in big white webs.
When I woke up, i told O that i had put liquid paper onto the painting and he thought this quite feasible, except that he knew I had not.
I joined in the making of the star-boat. Sitting in the afternoon sun, knotting lengths of timber and wire with twine, listening to the S and O narrative was completely captivating. I said that I wished I was a fishing-net maker in Portugal, sitting on the pebbles knotting and listening to stories. Pleasant for me, of course, but there is a deadline for THEM, hence my helping.

But back to my own task, I managed a little resolution of one canvas.
I will be off now for some liquid paper, for it seems like a good idea.
They will all be finished, soon.




"I hear your voice when I am sleeping" oil on wood.
Fifi