Monday, 10 January 2011
A flicker of light where a day ran past.
Short days of tiny wanderings. A visit to a medieval churchyard, built circular so that there were no corners for the devil to hide in. A delicious dinner in an old stone house where a family of enormous peacocks, that arrived one day from who knows where, roosts high in a tree. Some days I spend all my hours happily at our new table (a lucky find by the curb on a late night wander) in a beam of sunlight, working on etchings until the the sun runs off the edge of the sky and the light fails. An exercise in patience lately, and nothing more, thanks to chemical problems and cold rooms. I try to console myself with thoughts of Buddhist monks making complicated mandalas that they will destroy after. It's so hard not to think of time as wasted when there is nothing to show for a week's work, but even I must admit, it is a very good lesson to remember to make living the true artwork.