Slipping into high summer here, days start around 4am, already done most of my work by 5, first thoughts as they come after sleep. Cold here against the forest, a cold spell, chilly, dew-laden. I step out onto frosty brilliance as the sun breaks through at last, Im still cold from the night but the sun is shining directly on me as it emerges from the trees. I spend a half hour just letting her warm me, absorbing the new day. The sky is as clear as glass, a clear blue ocean, the light is as pure as my conscience, washed clean by forgiveness. The dogs come to join me, share the love. They like my place, not for the food, but the affection. You just cant fake that stuff. Then I slip back into the caravan, make my bed, sort my washing out, whites from colours, its wash day, got nothing to wear. And I pop the roof up so I can get a bit more headspace, seems like my head is getting bigger and the walls will pop. But I like my artist life, lonely as a string bean, and just as green. And I slip on some rubbers and go down to the studio to open up, let the light in. Its avocado for breakfast with black pepper freshly ground and salt and lemon juice, lemon picked from the tree. It tastes like oysters, creamy somehow, and milky. I think it will help with my skin. Old as a prune now, ravaged by the tropics, but still somehow good looking in a rugged kind of cowboy way. Suppose I must splash out a portrait now.
Posted on: Wed, 19 Nov 2014 06:19:58 +0000
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